


Factum Fieri Infectum Non Potest

by crushing83



Series: Ad Astra Per Aspera [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 17th Precinct AU, Allison Lives, Bad Deaton, Beta Scott McCall, But He Gets Better, Changing Tenses, Derek is a Failwolf, Flashbacks, Gen, Grudges, Hunter Allison, Hunter Police, Men of Letters, Mild descriptions of violence, Minor or background Relationships - Freeform, Misconceptions, Multi, Not Time Travel, Pre-Slash, Scott is a Bad Friend, Some people live some people die, Spark Stiles, Stiles Has Powers, Stiles has a twin brother, Stiles is Jimmy Travers, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Tattooed Stiles, Teen Wolf AU, The Magicians AU, Unreliable Narrator, back and forth in time, because I wanted endgame Sterek but never got there, borrowed a character from Bitten, brief recreational drug use, bringing a lot of hunters in too, bringing a lot of magic users together, changing time tenses, holding out hope for this even though it seems bleak, magical crossovers, minor content warning for vague discussion of bad hunter assaulting female supernaturals, playing fast and loose with Supernatural canon, pre-Sterek - Freeform, shadowhunters au, slightly younger 17th Precinct characters, stiles is kicked out of the pack, will probably get a sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-22 01:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30030822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: In the days following Stiles' rescue, an outside observer tries to catch up to him to try to begin repairing the damage her secret has caused. It isn't an easy journey; every step towards her goal shatters assumptions and dashes her hopes, but she persists because she believes it is important that Stiles learn the truth he'd been denied since the defeat of the nogitsune.Stiles and his friends may not be receptive to her advances, or to the apologies for her actions—and those of her remaining family.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Sam Winchester, Chris Argent/Melissa McCall, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Ethan/Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin/Feliks Stilinski, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Scott McCall/Malia Tate, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Wilder Blanks/Morgana Kurlansky
Series: Ad Astra Per Aspera [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828975
Comments: 418
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And, here I go, continuing the "Stiles has a (terrible) twin" universe I cooked up during the first story. You should read the first story, because a lot of what happened in that is what makes this one go forward, but you might be able to survive without it. I originally intended the second story to be from Derek's POV, but things changed, and here I am. Derek's perspective on events will come in the third (and final, hopefully) story if I'm able to continue writing this. 
> 
> The posting schedule for this story will probably be a little slower. I'm in the middle of a move, so there's less time for editing. But, the story is complete, so it will all be posted as I review/revise each chapter. 
> 
> Oh, and the title means "it is impossible for a deed to be undone," which seems fitting, given what story I'm about to try to tell.

The early morning light doesn't detract from Oak Creek's grim mood. She only sees the camp, itself, for a moment, before driving past it on her way into Beacon Hills, but the memory of it and its effect on the course of her life will forever be with her. 

She has no regrets about going there with everyone. She couldn't have left them to handle the nogitsune and its foot soldiers on their own. As soon as she'd forged her finest silver arrowhead, she'd also solidified her mission— _ nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes— _ and she doesn't regret it in the least. She only wishes she hadn't been separated from the people in her heart for years after taking that action; she only wishes she could have helped the pack more, instead of watching it falter from a distance. 

Even with Camp Oak Creek in the rearview mirror, she can't shake the memories of that place. She remembers the feeling of cold steel in her body, slicing through her with little regard for her life; she remembers the sound of Lydia's scream. She remembers that nothing hurt after the initial strike; she remembers Scott cradling her close. But those memories pale in comparison to the bright light that had surrounded her, her mother, and a woman she'd later learned was Claudia Stilinski. 

Her mother had hugged her, enveloping her in warmth and light. Claudia had only spoken to her, but it was her words that had left her confused for years after the incident. 

_ "My son doesn't know he's trying to keep you alive. He's in so much pain, my dear. You could pull him with you if you're not careful. You need to fight to live with him or you need to let go so he can save his strength for what's to come."  _

When she'd looked at her mother, she had only said, _ "Argents never take the easy way out." _

She'd thought that was odd (and maybe hypocritical), at the time, but with distance comes perspective and she believes her mother had fought in her own (misguided) way until the bitter end. 

While she wants to go straight to the pack house, she can't. Derek's restraining order is damned near permanent. She supposes that, since her alias is connected to her aunt, it was easy for Derek to find support with a semi-knowledgeable Sheriff's Department and well-connected district attorney. She accepts that; until they  _ all _ know she's still alive, she can't expect to be welcomed back as if nothing has changed. 

Everything has changed. 

The pack is in shambles (although she isn't sure who knows about that), Stiles is a gifted magic user, and Alan Deaton is no longer the quirky and cryptic source of information upon whom they'd all relied. 

She shakes her head as she tries to imagine what Deaton's motivations could have been. Her father hadn't told her much, after the rescue, except to say that Deaton allied with a group of hunters and attacked Stiles through them. Some of her teammates are going after the hunters who are now in federal custody, thanks to their disregard for multiple states' laws; it's their job to ensure their silence by any means necessary. She has been dispatched to deal with Deaton, and it seems as if her searches for Stiles Stilinski and Jimmy Travers, to finally put right what her father had started while she'd been recovering from her injuries, will finally fall in line with her mission's work. It's so rare to find a sighting of Jimmy Travers (or Stiles) so quickly; she is eager to catch up to Stiles and tell him the truth he deserved to know  _ years _ before everything became such a mess. 

There is little traffic in Beacon Hills. She pulls her truck onto semi-familiar streets and steers herself towards her father's condominium. He may be living with Melissa McCall (which she finds both shocking and not shocking, when she thinks about it), but he keeps the other space for work and for privacy. This is where she goes when she risks visiting Beacon Hills; there is no reason for the Sheriff or Melissa to be there. None of the pack should be there, either, so she should be able to pass in and out of town without them being aware of her presence. 

Upon parking the truck, she grabs a backpack and her keys, and quickly exits the vehicle. She hurries across the parking lot, keeping to the shadows, and it isn't until she's in the elevator that she relaxes. 

The front door to their unit is open when she emerges into the hallway. A light illuminates her—and Chris, when he steps into the space. 

"Allison," he says, smiling. "You made good time." 

She trusts her father with her life and her vocation, but she isn't sure how he'd react if he learns she would have been dispatched to Beacon Hills no matter the results of their rescue. He might try to stop her; he might try to help her. She can't allow him to stop her and she doesn't need him to help her. She just wants the information he can provide to help her in both of her tasks.

"I didn't hurry, but there wasn't much traffic," she lies, smiling back at him. She brushes her now-light-brown hair out of her eyes and opens her arms for a hug which he eagerly returns. "It's good to see you, Dad." 

He squeezes her close. "It's good to see you, too," he murmurs. As he releases her, he tips his head towards the interior of their old home. "C'mon. I have some doughnuts and there's coffee brewing. We can have breakfast and go over everything." 

She nods. She trusts their psychic, Patience, and when Patience says Deaton is acting against the pack, she believes that, but proof will make the job ahead easier to bear. 

##### 

_ While falling into the bright white light had been easy, and virtually painless, choosing to fight and survive had been far more painful. The first time she'd blinked awake hadn't lasted very long; she saw her father sitting at her bedside, she heard the telltale sounds of a hospital, and she'd relaxed into unconsciousness again. Drugs, thankfully, took the edge off of her pain while she wasn't completely aware; however, the more alert she became, the more she felt the damage wrought by their enemy. _

_ The fourth time she woke, she'd had enough energy to smile at Chris and squeeze his hand.  _

_ "Just rest," he murmured in his gruff voice. "I'm keeping watch."  _

_ She wanted to ask about Stiles and Lydia and Scott—in addition to everyone else—but her throat was dry and her eyelids were heavy. His gentle touch at her temple lulled her back to sleep.  _

_ It wasn't until the seventh time she woke that she'd been able to sit and have a conversation.  _

_ Once Chris finished telling her that they'd handled the nogitsune and that everyone but Aiden was alive, Allison looked around the room. She didn't recognise the decorating scheme; as far as she could tell, it wasn't a room within Beacon Hills' hospital.  _

_ "Dad, where am I?"  _

_ "Not at home," he replied, cryptically. "It's fine. I'll explain—" _

_ "Does the pack know?" _

_ Her question could have meant anything from "does the pack know I'm alive?" to "does the pack know where I am?" but Chris didn't ask for clarification. Instead, he squeezed her hand and said three simple words.  _

_ "No one knows."  _

_ Allison frowned. Scott and Isaac must be upset; she felt awful for leaving them the way she did. Lydia screamed for her; Allison didn't know if she had figured out that she'd somehow managed to survive.  _

_ And Stiles…  _

_ He would be in  _ pain. _ He would take responsibility for the nogitsune's actions because it wore Stiles' face.  _

_ If he thought Allison were dead…  _

_ "Stiles needs to know," she whispered.  _

_ Chris frowned. "Not until I know it's safe," he replied. "And even then, maybe not. You can get out of this mess. You can live a full life—" _

_ "Dad." _

_ He shook his head. "I've been watching him. He seems human again… but I can't risk you."  _

_ "You're just going to keep me a secret?" she asked. _

_ "You can take an alias, you can go to school, to university… you can live, Allison," Chris said, his voice rough and earnest at the same time. "Please don't ask me to take you back there."  _

_ Allison frowned. She didn't like her father's plan. She didn't like what it would mean for the people in her heart.  _

_ But, she could also barely stay awake. She would have to regain her strength and heal, first, before she fought her father on the issue of secrecy.  _

##### 

Allison looks over the evidence and theories and rubs her upper arms. 

"This is…"

"A lot," Chris agrees. 

She looks at the photograph of the nemeton Chris had managed to take when he'd been helping the magic users get to Stiles. It is no longer a stump; it has flourished in the years since Allison left Beacon Hills behind. 

"So, he's been trying to harness its power?" she asks. 

Chris shrugs. "No idea. They weren't completely forthcoming with their theories after a certain point," he replies. "Magnus is cagey. So are the other two, to be honest, but you don't notice it in them right away. Magnus has been on the defensive since he came to Beacon Hills." 

"Who are they again? Did you get their names?" Allison asks, thinking they'd be the best way to find Stiles. 

"Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, and Caolán Longstreet," Chris says. He points to a list of names on a piece of yellow note paper. "The others on the list came from the CBI. The Sheriff called them in once they'd caught the hunters and Deaton. Partiality. I think Stilinski wants to make sure Deaton isn't subject to special treatment." 

"He thinks Malia, Erica, and Boyd would protect or release Deaton? After what he did?" 

Chris shrugs again. "No clue." 

"And why are these CBI agents on the list?" Allison asks, looking over the names  _ Wilder Blanks, Liam Butterfield, and Mira Barkley _ under the names of the magic users. 

"They appear to be witches or druids, too. Or, at least, aware enough to put mountain ash in certain places," Chris replies. 

Allison nods. It won't be the first time she encounters magic users or hunters in law enforcement and it won't be the last time, either. She commits their names to memory and wonders how they're all connected to Stiles—or if they're connected at all. 

"Magnus and Alec seem to be very close with Stiles. Maybe even romantically. Caolán appears to be a good friend, too, no less close but no… attraction between them from what I can see. They're all a part of Stiles' inner circle." 

She presses her lips together. She doesn't know what to make of that. 

"There was a circle in the house. Around where Stiles was kept," Chris continues, as if unaware of her thoughts. "Mountain ash and mistletoe and something else I couldn't identify before Magnus set it on fire. The hunters said they didn't set it up. Deaton did it before they took him and brought him to the house. Deaton made the shackles, too. They kept him from using too much overt magic—I doubt he'd have been able to  _ do _ anything while wearing them. But, Magnus saw the engravings on them and cursed. When I asked, he wouldn't explain the design, so I assume they do something worse." 

With a frown curving her lips, she says, "Maybe they're… maybe Deaton wants Stiles' power." 

"Maybe," Chris concedes. "But, Allison… there's something… the nemeton. Stiles knew I was involved in it being chopped down. I think he knew Deaton was involved, too." 

She blinks. Then, she remembers how Stiles always spoke about those who hurt the tree and she snorts. 

"So you're one of the 'careless assholes,'" she says. 

Chris snorts, too. "Yeah. I didn't know," he admits. "I mean, I didn't know Deaton was planning something. All he told me was the tree acts as a beacon to the supernatural. Gerard was planning to lay waste to Deucalion's pack, and I knew there were other packs planning to come to town, meet with Talia… plus the other hunters, circling around. I just wanted it to stop." 

"Did you ever suspect?" Allison asks. 

"Once or twice, something he'd said seemed odd," Chris says. He met Allison's gaze and frowned. "I didn't have enough. I tried to watch him, but I couldn't see anything… he still seemed to help. And we had enough going on around then. I just… forgot." 

She understands. Beacon Hills, for years, was like a hellmouth. It has calmed down considerably, compared to how it behaved when she'd first moved to the community with her family. In the face of that energy seemingly dying down, she, too, might have decided it isn't worth much concern. 

"How did Stiles know?" 

After another shrug, Chris says, "No idea. I asked Feliks and the Sheriff, they said they didn't know why Stiles suspected him. Feliks doesn't. The Sheriff might. He can keep a secret."

With her continued existence a secret from John, she knows she can't go to him and ask for more information about Stiles. She sets that mystery aside and lets her eyes drift to the list. The name  _ Magnus Bane _ sounds familiar. So does the surname  _ Lightwood,  _ but she can't place either name in her memory. 

After reaching out, Allison taps her finger against the first name. 

"What is it?" Chris asks. 

"Something familiar about Bane. The name, I mean," she says. 

Chris nods and walks away from the kitchen table. As she stares at the information Chris compiled, she curves her free hand around her mug of creamed-and-sugared coffee and takes a sip. There is certainly enough here to condemn Deaton by an audience of his peers; Mary requires her to fact check the story they're given, especially if it's from Patience's visions, and Allison is confident that she'll find this information to be suitable evidence. She pulls out her phone and takes several pictures, sending it all to Mary through a secure application before Chris returns to the room. 

Mary sends a text that says  _ You feel confident going ahead? _ and Allison replies with  _ Yes.  _

When Chris shuffles back into the kitchen, two old volumes in his hands, she sees Mary's last message— _ Let me know when it's done. _ —and pockets her device. 

"What's this?" she asks, taking the first book from him. 

"Chapter three for that one, chapter seven for this one," he replies as he puts the second book down over his notes. 

The text is in English, but it appears to be a rough translation of another language. She skims through it, seeing terms like  _ dormant volcano _ and  _ demon child _ and  _ all-encompassing devastation _ before she settles on the name  _ Magnus Bane. _ It seems as if he were protecting children in an orphanage from being sacrificed; he called on the power of the gods and destroyed the village for daring to think they could kill children with physical abnormalities. 

"Don't wanna cross that guy," she murmurs. 

Chris snorts. "Doubt it was him. The text is describing an event in Peru in sixteen-hundred," he explains. 

"What…" 

"It's like the alias you use now," he theorises. "Something a family maintains. They've just been at this a lot longer than we have." 

Chris' theory makes sense. She nods and snaps a picture of the passage before taking a picture of the story in the second book—about a Magnus Bane who helped heal a seemingly magical plague in the mid-nineteenth century, somewhere in Louisiana. She isn't sure the accounts are accurate; she isn't sure the name is an alias. But, it can't hurt to have the information on hand when she searches for him, as she searches for Stiles. 

"You're determined to find him and tell him the truth," Chris says, after a few long moments of silence. 

Nodding, Allison turns and looks at her father. "Yes, I am. That hasn't changed, Dad." 

"May I ask why you're so determined to destroy him? Because that's what's gonna happen."

Allison sighs. She knows there are risks to revealing the truth—to Stiles, finally—because he will realise that almost everyone has been lying to him for years. But, as soon as she'd realised how bad the relationships between Stiles and the pack had turned, she also realised they can never  _ honestly _ attempt to repair those broken relationships until everyone is on the same page. If Stiles wants to have a true relationship with his brother (or anyone else in the pack), he can't do that without the whole truth. 

"He deserves the truth," she says. "If he's going to cut all ties from Beacon Hills, for good, it should be for all the right reasons. If he's going to try to come back, ever, he needs to know what we've all been hiding—what  _ you _ essentially decided we should hide." 

Stiles saved her life. She owes him the truth and an apology. It's taken years of searching for him, but she's so close to finding him now. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ The grave marker was made of a dark grey stone, much like her mother's monument. Allison brushed her fingers along the smooth surface of the top.  _

_ "You okay?" Chris asked.  _

_ Truthfully, Allison was nowhere close to  _ okay. _ Her friends thought they buried her ashes. They had the service in her honour two weeks ago; Chris had said everyone but Stiles had been there, and Lydia and Scott both spoke about her to the group of mourners. Kira brought sunflowers; Isaac brought lilacs. Derek had put a sprig of wolfsbane in her grave. He'd said it was a nice, respectful service. They were grieving her; she was grieving them and she hated that she was adding to their pain (and would again when she finally returned to them).  _

_ "It's weird," she admitted.  _

_ "I didn't want to have a service or a grave, but Scott and Lydia were insistent when I told them I couldn't do it," Chris said. "Makes sense. We buried Kate. If I didn't do the same for you, when you're the best of all of us… it would be suspicious."  _

_ "Aren't you worried about the fallout?" Allison asked, keeping her eyes on her name and date of death. "When they find out you lied?" _

_ Chris sighed. "I'm just trying to protect you. They'll understand."  _

_ Despite her doubts on that subject, she nodded.  _

_ "You're going to go to a safe school, meet lots of people, and have all the experiences you should have," Chris said as he put his arm around her shoulders. "If you still want to tell them the truth, we can. Just… please live a little first. Away from werewolves and kitsunes and nemetons." _

_ "Nemeta," Allison corrected. _

_ After a little huff, Chris reached into his coat and pulled out a thin scarf Allison recognised as her own. He bent down and moved some of the trinkets so that they were weighing down the flimsy fabric.  _

_ "To explain your scent," he said.  _

_ She nodded and allowed him to guide her out of the cemetery. It was time to set Allison Argent aside so she could become Christina Valet. Her death wasn't real, but it still marked the end of her life as she knew it.  _

#####

There is a lot of fast planning from her room in the condominium, while Chris is out in the world and acting as if nothing else is amiss. Before Allison had arrived in Beacon Hills,  Mary (or Charlie, with her technological prowess)  located the transport schedule, so Allison knows when Deaton will be moved and when she has to act.

She could have looked for Stiles before he'd left town—they were  _ finally _ in the same place!—but the job always comes first.  She's been trying for years to find Stiles, and Chris suspects they live in California—Stiles' vehicle's plates, he says, are from the state—so she'll take the information from her father and act quickly in hopes of locating him and putting her death to rest so they can all move forward. 

Instead of looking for Stiles, she plans and prepares. She adds a custom device to the deputies' prisoner van; she prepares her weapons and plans her route. She steals a vehicle. She moves her truck to a plot in the heart of a county campground. She leaves her father a note—saying she'll be back when she finds Stiles—and she puts on her uniform—black on black clothes, boots with lifts, a bleached-blonde wig, sunglasses, and gloves—and her weapons and mask are ready. 

Ten minutes before Deaton is expected to be driven through the stretch of highway she'd marked as best, she is parked in her stolen vehicle and readying herself for her mission. 

Killing will never be easy. She hates it. But, she also knows that it is necessary—sometimes. After spending decades on what she assumes is his plan to steal power, she knows Deaton will never stop. He will probably turn himself towards revenge. More magic users and werewolves could become his targets. She works hard to protect supernatural beings, and Stiles and his friends are supernatural beings. Killing Deaton will save their lives. 

Those reminders replay in her mind as she pushes the biggest button on her remote and watches the van skid to a stop in the middle of the road; a push of a smaller button locks the doors of the cab. The driver and passenger won't be able to immediately help. Before the transport van ceases movement completely, she leaves her stolen car, weapons in her hands and mask on her face, and she strides towards the van with intent. 

A light explosive device melts the lock on the back doors. Before she swings open those doors, she readies her taser. 

The deputy drops. 

Deaton's eyes widen at the sight of her. She wonders if he thinks she's there to save him—or to kill him. Aside from his surprise, there is no other sign of emotion or thought on his face. 

She wishes she has some sort of parting comment to deliver, but she knows better than to delay. Monologuing isn't her style, anyway. 

As soon as she aims her pistol at Deaton's head, she fires a shot. She thought she'd feel sad, as she looks at his blood splattered on the van's interior wall, but all she can feel is relief at the knowledge he is no longer able to hurt them—any of them. She releases the cables from her taser, tugs them free of the deputy, and takes all evidence she can easily gather back to her stolen vehicle. 

She's gone before anyone else can arrive. 

No one comes upon her while she's cleaning and abandoning the stolen car. No one follows her through the forest to her truck's location. No one comes across her as she's packing up her (staged) campsite. 

When she's on her way to Los Angeles, in hopes that Stiles and his friends live in the magical community there, she sends Mary a text to let her know the job is done. 

_ 10-4. Enjoy your downtime. _

Allison grips the steering wheel. She isn't sure that bringing the truth to Stiles' door is going to be enjoyable, but the lies have gone on long enough. It has to be done. 

#####

_ "You're still here?" _

_ At Valerie's question, Allison grunted and knocked another arrow. Archery is all Christina Valet has of Allison's former life. Maur Hill-Mount Academy wasn't a terrible place, but its lack of anything beyond the mundane and its Catholic nature makes her uncomfortable. It being located in Kansas wasn't a point in its favour, either.  _

_ Her father might want her to abandon her life as Allison, and she might have considered it, if only to remember (or learn, really) how  _ regular _ teenagers lived, but she knew that she could never leave her mission behind.  _

_ It was a part of her.  _

_ As soon as she received her education, she knew she would return to Beacon Hills and protect people.  _

_ "C'mon, you missed supper," Valerie said. "The House Cup is important, but it's not this important. Your fingers must be freezing."  _

_ Allison loosed her arrow and smiled in grim satisfaction when it hit the centre of the target. She lowered her bow and looked at her dorm neighbour.  _

_ "I missed supper?" Allison asked.  _

_ "Yeah, but I smuggled a couple apples and a muffin out for you," she said. "Homework check is in an hour."  _

_ At that, she sighed. Boarding school was not how movies and television portrayed it. She was sure some schools might be, in some ways, but Allison hated the checking that the adult residence staff and student prefects constantly did. She felt like they believed she couldn't decide how to spend her time. She'd run with werewolves and made life and death decisions on nearly a weekly basis; she could decide when to do her calculus homework.  _

_ On the bright side, she didn't have to go to mass on Sunday. She could have free time then.  _

_ She sighs and walks towards the target. She pulls her arrows from it, heads back to her bag, and smiles at her new friend.  _

_ "Okay. Let's head back," she decided. "Maybe we can hang out after they decide we're well-adjusted, well-behaved girls." _

_ Valerie grinned. "We're anything but. That's gonna be a lot of work."  _

_ In response, Allison laughed.  _


	3. Chapter 3

After spending two days in Los Angeles, she still hasn't found Stiles. She did stop a sorcerer from killing two young children, so she doesn't consider the trip a complete failure, but she is disappointed that she wasn't able to locate any of the people on her list. Los Angeles has a large and scattered magical community; despite that, no one seems to know Jimmy Travers or any of the other names she gave when conducting her search. 

Chris has been texting her ever since he realised she left town. He seems relieved—at least from his messages—that she's circling back and returning to Beacon Hills. She doesn't know what he knows about Deaton's demise; she doesn't know if he's planning on asking her if she had anything to do with it. So far, she hasn't seen anything about Deaton on the news, and it appears as if someone is keeping his actions in addition to his demise very quiet. 

Scott and Lydia, too, have been sending her texts. 

When Stiles was in Beacon Hills, Scott's messages started out sounding confused: _stiles is mad @ us;_ _he's had yrs, why not over it? for his own good!; i thought he wanted a clean brk neway;_ and so on. When Scott learned Stiles' secret identity (and Allison isn't sure how _Scott_ learned that information, because she is fairly sure it is meant to be top secret information), he sent a message that said _holy!!!! stiles is like the boogeyman! did you know he's jimmy travers?_ , and Allison deleted the message quickly before sending a text back to Scott ordering him to do the same. Lydia was far more discreet while Stiles was in town. Her first messages were: _did you know Stiles is here?; we really screwed up; Stiles is in trouble, there's a scream… not a full-on scream, but like, it's an option; the screams over the years make so much more sense now;_ and a much later _I screwed up even more all on my own._

After Stiles left town, Scott sent her several messages indicating that it's safe if she wants to come back and visit; he'd apparently found out, either by asking Chris or by Chris telling him, she'd been there for a day already. Lydia remains silent after Stiles left them. However, Allison knows her well enough and assumes she's busy thinking on all that happened; Lydia has experienced some sort of adjustment, most likely, and she'll share her thoughts when she processes them. 

Circling back to Beacon Hills isn't a bad thing. Stiles is still only a couple days away from her, and he's apparently travelling by mundane means, so Allison thinks it could be helpful to ask some of the pack if they'd been given any details of her life. Maybe someone noticed something; maybe Stiles told _one_ of them something. That something could help her map out a more accurate path to take. 

She tells Chris she'll stay for two or three days, she texts Lydia and tells her they should get together, and she lets the rest of the pack, apart from Derek and Peter, know she's in town with a group text. Boyd and Cora don't respond; they never respond when she texts the group. Jackson replies with a middle-finger emoji; this, too, is expected, because he never agreed with her being kept a secret from a lot of people. Instead of agreeing to join everyone (usually at Feliks' apartment), Malia remains silent. Isaac, Scott, Feliks, Erica, Liam, and Lydia agree to meet with her, though, and Scott volunteers his apartment; Allison appreciates this, because she wants to sneak into Deaton's veterinary clinic, too, at some point, and Scott is still living in the rental unit above the clinic. She wants to check to see if Deaton had any more unsavoury contacts; she wants to see what dangerous artifacts Deaton had in his collection. A visit to Scott's place will give her a chance to check out the location. 

Scott and Isaac try to greet her with hugs, but she moves for Lydia first and pulls her oldest friend into her arms. Even though they're technically adults, they still act childishly around her, and she doesn't like to encourage the behaviour. If she hugs Scott first, Isaac will pout; if she hugs Isaac first, Scott will pout. They're all adults and they should be above petty squabbles, but they're not and Allison has to navigate the situation to avoid unwanted attitude. 

"How are you?" she asks. 

"My head is full," Lydia admits. "Come on. Let's get some tea." 

Lydia expertly steers her past the werewolves, including Feliks, Erica, and Liam, who are sitting on Scott's sofa, and into the kitchen. 

"What's going on?" Lydia asks, as soon as they're alone. 

"Same old thing. Trying to find Stiles," Allison replies. 

"You just missed him." 

Allison sighs. "Yeah… and that might have worked, but I had a job, and I think… it would be better to find him on his turf," she says. 

"A job?" Lydia asks. 

"I was in Los Angeles. A bad-touch sorcerer, eventually killing the kids he snatched up," Allison lies. 

Lydia narrows her eyes and says, "I hope it went well." 

"As far as I can tell," she tells her friend. 

After a little nod, Lydia moves to Scott's cupboards and pulls out the plug-in kettle and jar of tea. His loose leaf must be Lydia's purchase; he'd never buy something like that for himself. When she asks, Lydia pauses and frowns. 

"I didn't…" 

"Scott?" Allison calls out. "Where did you get this tea?" 

"I… oh. Deaton gave it to me." 

Allison snatches the jar from Lydia's hands and takes it to the garbage can. She thinks about saving a sample, but she doesn't care; she wants all of that man erased from the world. It could be normal tea; it could be a potion. Either way, it will be gone from their lives. 

"Smart," Lydia agrees, when Allison slams the lid on the garbage can. "Water then?"

"Please," Allison replies. 

When she notices Scott standing in the doorway, she turns and looks at him. He's frowning at the garbage can; then, he turns his head and he's frowning at her. 

She raises her eyebrows in silent question. 

"It's just tea," Scott says. "There's no need to throw it out." 

Lydia snorts behind her. 

Allison crosses her arms across her chest. "Scott, after everything he did, you shouldn't want anything to do with him—or assume there's only tea in that jar," she says. 

"It's just tea," Scott repeats. 

"You're a vet. You can afford new tea," Lydia argues. 

Scott huffs. "It's not that! Everyone thinks he did bad things—"

"Oh my god, Scott McCall, you were presented with cold, hard facts that he betrayed everyone, _including you,_ and you still stand by him?" Lydia interrupts. "We're all at fault in part because we didn't pay close enough attention to him, and now he's sitting in jail for colluding with mass murderers to kill Stiles, but you still think he's innocent!" 

"How do we know Stiles didn't do something… or maybe Deaton was just trying to help him—"

Allison rolls her eyes. 

She knows Scott always saw Deaton as a father-figure type; she would understand if he has a blind spot for Deaton if he'd done something small. But Deaton… the depths to which he'd descended for power are not a small thing. So much of the death in Beacon Hills occurred because Deaton allowed it or wanted it, because it might contribute to the sacrificial energy that strengthened (in a way) the nemeton. She doesn't know much about magic or telluric currents, but she knows the law of conservation of energy applies to their situation; living energy was converted to dead (for the lack of a better word) energy at a faster rate and it traveled the ley lines to their region's convergence. Deaton did nothing to stop the process. If anything, he helped the process happen. 

"You believe them? Over me?" Scott asks her. 

"Yes," Allison says. "Scott, you're being obtuse about this." 

"Feliks—"

"Is also an idiot, trust me," Allison interrupts. 

From the den-slash-living-room, Feliks shouts, "Hey!" 

Lydia snorts. "You're not wrong. We've all been idiots," she mutters. 

Allison accepts a glass of water from Lydia and they move into the den, with Scott trailing behind them. Lydia sits down next to Feliks, who is frowning and staring out the window; Allison perches on the arm of the sofa so she's next to Lydia, and so she can see the whole room. 

"Why are we here?" Erica asks. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but Liam isn't supposed to be away from the house for long, so…" 

When she sees Lydia's hand tighten on her own glass of water, Allison wonders at the reaction and asks, "What happened?"

"Liam attacked Stiles," Lydia mutters. 

"Stiles handled it fine, I don't know why you're so upset about it," Feliks snaps back. 

"Maybe he shouldn't have had to handle it!" Lydia snipes at him in response. "Maybe we should have done better so it wasn't necessary for him to defend himself!" 

As she looks around the room, Allison can see that its inhabitants are not in complete agreement with Lydia. It isn't the first time they've argued since Allison revealed that she's still alive; over the years, they've argued about Allison's secret and who should know it, as well as other pieces of pack business Allison should not have ever been told. Since they found out Allison is still alive, Stiles is often a topic of division amongst them. It's not Stiles' fault; Chris started it, they all ran with it, and Allison is trying to put an end to it. She just needs to find him so he can have all the information required to make informed decisions about any future connection to Beacon Hills. 

"Well… I came here to ask you guys if Stiles gave you any information about where he's staying now, but maybe I'll do better on my own," Allison says. 

"He travels a lot," Liam says. "Everything was packed in his car when we went to get him." 

She nods. "I know. Makes him hard to locate," she replies. 

Feliks sighs. "I don't know why you want to tell him," he says. "It's gonna go badly. He'll never come back if he finds out you're alive and we all knew before him." 

"He'll probably never come back anyway, after everything. He should still know," Allison reminds him, like she does any time they had this sort of conversation in the last few years, when it became clear finding Stiles was not going to be easy. 

"What if he can't handle it?" Erica asks. 

Since Allison knows at least some of what Stiles has faced as Jimmy over the years, and she suspects Erica has no idea, she thinks that question is hilarious. 

"Can't handle it?" Allison asks, laughter in her voice. "He's not some delicate flower. He's… one of the toughest people I've ever known." 

Isaac's eyebrows jump up at that. 

"You don't know, because you haven't seen his work," she says. "But, even when we were kids, playing at saving the world, I don't think you ever saw Stiles for what he's worth." 

"So, what? He's an amped-up hunter," Liam mutters. 

Allison looks from Liam to Feliks to Scott. "You told him?! What part of a secret do you not understand?" she demands. 

"Hard to keep the secret when Stiles used magic to stop Liam," Feliks mutters. 

"I told you," Scott adds. 

After sharing a look with Lydia, Allison glares at Scott. "Yes, you did. You shouldn't have. But, you did. It's no wonder Stiles has practically cut all ties with Beacon Hills. Have you ever had his back since this became our lives?" she hisses. "He has been protecting werewolves for years, and you're all here sulking and whining and… and being incredibly ungrateful!" 

Erica snorts. 

Allison turns her attention to her. "You've got some nerve," she says. "I was there, in the basement. When Dad found all three of you. I was messed up, but I heard and remembered some of what Stiles said to you and Boyd, to convince you to go back to Derek. How dare you." 

She takes a small amount of pleasure in the way Erica flinches. 

Scott blinks. "What? When?"

Turning to look at him, Allison forces herself to take a deep breath. It is worse than she expected; she'd hoped, after seeing how capable he is, they'd have realised their collective mistake. Unfortunately, they seem incapable of wrapping their minds around the concept that Stiles has been helping them, either directly or indirectly, since the beginning. 

"Gerard kidnapped him. After I helped him capture Erica and Boyd on their way out of town," Allison replies. "Gerard tortured him. Beat him. I didn't know that was his plan. Stiles never gave any of you up. And he convinced Erica and Boyd to give Derek and the pack another chance." 

Lydia gasps, a hand to her mouth. 

"He did?" Feliks asks. 

Lydia nods. "I went to see him… to find out what was going on. Before the warehouse. He was… he had scrapes and bruises, he was talking about—" 

"About what?" Feliks prompts. 

She shakes her head and doesn't elaborate. 

When Lydia does speak again, she looks to Allison. "Can you drive me home?" she asks. 

"Sure," Allison agrees. 

It isn't until they're a block away from Scott's apartment that she remembers she wanted to search Deaton's office. She looks over at Lydia, who seems to be processing even more information, and she realises that searching Deaton's belongings can wait. If she can help any of them see the truth and change for the better, it might be a more valuable use of her time. 

"Feliks is going through a rough patch, although that's an understatement," Lydia says. "He and the Sheriff had a huge fight when Stiles left. I don't know the whole story—he won't tell me, and the Sheriff isn't too happy with me, either." 

"That text when you said you screwed up?" Allison asks. 

She nods. "I… I went over there with good intentions. I mean, I'd be lying if I say I don't want Jimmy Travers as our emissary, but the pack hasn't been the same without him, in general," she says. "I didn't realise it was Stiles we were missing until he came back—indicating exactly how self-involved I've become."

Allison frowns as she drives towards Lydia's apartment building. "What happened?" 

"I… was a bitch," Lydia replies. "He insulted my intentions, and I… reacted. I didn't do well." 

She waits, suspecting Lydia needs a minute to gather her thoughts. She loves Lydia, faults and all, but she doesn't want to guide Lydia through this situation. Support is one thing, but Allison doesn't want to make it too easy for the pack. She is at fault, too, for not succeeding in finding Stiles and telling him the truth—in addition to sitting back and letting the lack of regard for Stiles fester and strengthen. She should have done better; she will do better. Her quest towards reconciliation is not theirs; they have their own journey to seek through the mess they've all made of their lives. 

"I didn't realise what we were doing. I don't know if I was even aware of what was happening, and that's a terrible excuse, but… that's all I have," Lydia continues. "Feliks has always been a friend. He was friends with Jackson from the start. I… how many times did Feliks say Stiles couldn't make it, but Stiles didn't actually know we were getting together? How many times did Feliks lie? I never bothered to factcheck. I thought, 'why would Feliks lie?'" 

"That's a messed up relationship," Allison says in a quiet voice. "I didn't know. I thought… maybe sibling rivalry, but I don't have brothers or sisters." 

"Same," Lydia breathes. "I don't… Feliks and I are… well, I… I don't know if he was ever who I thought he was." 

Allison wants to ask if she thinks they'll end their relationship, but she doesn't need to ask. She can hear the tremble in Lydia's voice, the same tremble that was present when Lydia and Jackson were on the metaphorical rocks for the last time; she feels terrible that their relationship is likely nearing its end because she will never wish that pain on Lydia. But, she would be confused by Lydia's actions if she blindly stayed at Feliks' side. It seems as if she's realising things have to change. 

"If I find him, he might never come back…"

"But at least he'll know the truth," Lydia says. "The whole truth. We owe him that. After everything. More, really, but we—you—can at least give him the truth." 

Allison nods. 

#####

_After_ vin chaud _and the Christmas markets, Allison was glad to be back inside their Parisien holiday hideaway. Her feet hurt from so much walking and hot chocolate made from her father's recipe was what she was really craving; they made it every Christmas, no matter where they were stationed, and she'd come to count on the tradition for some sort of stability when her life was more out of control than usual._

_"You look happy," Chris commented as he studied her over his mug. "School's okay?"_

_"I hate the rules."_

_Chris snorted. "Yeah, I can imagine it's a bit different than sneaking out your bedroom window to go run with werewolves," he said._

_At that, Allison smiled. "Yes. They treat us like we can't budget our time… it… chafes."_

_"I bet," he agreed. "But it's a good place, far from any dangers. There's no pack in the area, either."_

_Allison rolled her eyes and brought her mug of cocoa up to her lips. She knew she was meant to continue her family's mission—the updated mission, not the one Gerard and Kate pretended to follow—no matter what her father wanted for her. It wouldn't matter if there were werewolves or banshees in the area or not. Eventually, Allison will return and help protect people who need protecting._

_"Have you had any contact with Beacon Hills?" he asked, pulling her from her thoughts._

_In response, she shook her head. "No, I… I promised you I wouldn't," she said. "I don't agree with you. I hate that they think I'm dead. But, I wouldn't go behind your back on this."_

_Chris studied her over his mug of cocoa and nodded. "I know it's hard," he said._

_"They aren't evil."_

_"I know," he said._

_"Stiles—"_

_"Not yet," Chris interrupted. "Please. Watching you go down like that… I just…"_

_She knew how he felt. They've discussed it quite a lot—in the hospital, in the hotel suite when she'd been regaining her strength, and on the way to Kansas—and she knew his position forward and backward. At first, it was disappointing but understanding. The more time that passed, though, the more frustrating Allison found his position to be. While Valerie and Devon were good friends, their friendships weren't forged in blood, sweat, and tears; Allison missed the people who knew her in good times and_ real _bad times. No one could replace the pack and her heart hurt for being apart from them._

_Her heart also hurt for the pain she was causing them by staying away and hidden._

_"I know," she murmured._

_Chris nodded. He sipped his cocoa. Then, after swallowing, he lowered his mug._

_"You know, your mom loved this place—the apartment, and the city," he said. He smiled his sad smile. "I come back here, sometimes, just to feel closer to her."_

_Allowing the topic change, because she, too, still missed Victoria in spite of her sins, Allison smiled. "I didn't know that," she said. "Hard to picture her just… relaxing in Paris."_

_At that comment, Chris snorts. "She didn't do it often. That woman did not like to relax."_

_"How did you two meet?" Allison asked. "Hunting?"_

_"It was… well, yes, we met at a training space for hunters," Chris replied. "Some of the traditional families send their kids to other families to learn their skills. It's how we learn about other creatures or beings—because some are localised to specific areas, or because some families only choose to hunt specific groups._

_"And your mom… we were in New Mexico, learning about harpies and werejaguars," Chris said._

_He paused and snorted, shaking his head a little. Allison didn't know what that was about, but she didn't want to ask and break his concentration; stories about her mother were fewer and farther between since she (was) moved to Kansas. So, she held her tongue and waited and watched._

_"Victoria, she was fierce. She terrified me when we first met," Chris admitted. "She was bleached blonde then… nearly white hair. Still short—she hated when hair got in her face. Everything about her was all business. And she came from a family that hunted bad witches, I don't know if we ever got around to talking about that."_

_Allison shook her head. "No… she never said… there wasn't really a lot of time for talking in Beacon Hills," she murmured._

_Nodding, Chris adjusted his position, slouching a little bit more. "We were still kids. It wasn't… we were friends by the end of the summer, but we were too young for dating or anything," he said._

_"When did that happen?" Allison asked._

_"A few years later, your mother came up to me and said she thought my firearm and trap-setting skills weren't abysmal—"_

_Allison giggled._

_"—yeah, sounds like her, huh? Anyway, she said she gave my name to her parents when they asked for her input before going to the other teens' parents."_

_Allison blinked._

_"Wait… you two were an arranged marriage?" she asked._

_Without hesitation, Chris nodded. "It was still pretty common when we were young," he said. "It helped keep families connected, and it meant we weren't dating_ and _hunting—or training."_

_"Was that… I mean…"_

_"We learned to love each other," Chris said when Allison floundered. "And we always had a deep respect for each other, from the start. Affection and love came from that. It might not have been normal, but it worked for us. And it brought you into our lives._

_"As tough as she was… she loved you so much, Allison. We both… you're the best thing either of us ever did."_

_Allison knew she was blushing. She always reacted that way when her father turned emotional on her._

_"Merry Christmas, Dad," she murmured._

_Chris leaned over and pulled her into a careful one-armed hug. "Merry Christmas, Allison," he whispered back as he squeezed her close._

#####

Peter steps out of the shadows as soon as Allison leaves the confines of her truck cab. He raises his hands, as if to say he comes in peace, and Allison snorts. 

"What do you want?" she asks. 

"To talk," Peter replies. "I can help you with your search if you answer a few of my questions." 

"Like what?" 

"Like 'why?' for starters," he says. 

Allison nods in acceptance of his terms. "You might as well come up. Dad's supposed to be at Melissa's tonight," she says. 

"He hasn't told her yet?" Peter asks. 

As she walks towards the building, she shakes her head. "I don't think he could plan this far ahead when he kept me a secret," she admits. "Stiles left before he was ready to tell anyone, and as much as he says he isn't bothered that Stiles doesn't know… I think he is, at least a little, and that's why he hasn't told Melissa or the Sheriff." 

"Well, it seems that Christina Valet has a brain that works a bit," Peter mutters, following her inside. 

Allison snorts. 

Upon entering the condo, Allison turns on a few lights and pulls the blinds closed. She's pretty sure none of the pack will stop by to visit, but she doesn't want Scott to come by and see Peter in front of the windows; she doesn't need that aggravation, on top of everything else, before bed. 

"Water?" Allison asks. 

Peter shakes his head. 

"I've spent the last hour trying to talk sense to a few idiots, so… just give me a minute," she says as she heads into the kitchen. Peter chuckles behind her. "I think Lydia gets it—or is starting to, anyway—but I have no idea why some of them—Feliks and Scott, especially—are so hard-headed," she continues. She grabs a glass from the cupboard and finds the water cooler in the pantry. It's fresh and full; Chris must have refilled it after she left for Los Angeles. She sips her water in the shadows and thinks about what she wants to say next. When she lands on it, she turns to look at Peter. "How's Derek doing? I mean, I know pack hierarchy can shift, but—" 

"He and I have fundamental differences in opinion on how a pack should be run, anyway," he explains. "I would have forced pack bonds, and my nephew likes to pretend we don't need or want those connections." 

Allison blinks and turns completely. "You've never had pack bonds since Derek became alpha?" 

Peter nods. "At first, I thought it was because I came back to life, then the sins I've committed," he says, glossing over that terrifying chapter of their lives. "But, I asked Boyd. He said they never feel anything that sounds like what I remember." 

That piece of information actually makes more sense of what evidence Allison has seen, when observing how the pack interacts from a distance. When she'd been alive, to everyone, she'd been living a dramatic teenager's life full of adventure, danger, and romance; when she'd been forced to restrict interactions to video calls and rare visits, she experienced enough distance to observe them with a more objective eye. So many things hadn't made sense, but with Peter's tidbit of information, the big picture became a little bit clearer. 

"So, they're just working off of a hierarchy they perceive to be true," Allison says, thinking out loud. 

Nodding again, Peter adds, "It bothers Malia, but whether she knows it or not, consciously, I have no idea. The others, apart from Cora and maybe Ethan and Jackson, are clueless." 

"And… in the past, Derek favouring Stiles, or allowing his dissent," she says, thinking about the times Stiles acted out when she was there, when emotions and tension were running high. "Throw in a bit of their belief that werewolves are more invincible than humans…" 

Peter smirks. "Yes, I believe they saw the unruly human claiming their alpha's attention as disrespect—or something that should not be tolerated," he agrees. His smirk fades. "Of course, that doesn't excuse their behaviour. But, it explains some of it. I expect there's no real excuse for Scott. Or Feliks." 

Allison can't argue with his last comment. Sure, she might have helped create a bit of the divide between Scott and Stiles, but she believes it wouldn't have happened if Scott had cared enough (or at all) to prevent it. In the moment, she hadn't noticed; with hindsight and distance, she can see their friendship had not been balanced. Feliks… is another story. She finds the twin brothers' situation confusing, since she never had a sibling. She knows that there's something going on with Feliks, though. Whether it happened when they were kids, or it was something that happened after he'd been bitten, Allison doesn't know. 

She hopes they can work on their relationship, but she is more concerned about Stiles than Feliks. She wronged Stiles; she wants to help him to make up for the hurts she will have caused him. 

"So… the why," Allison says, after another sip of water. 

"Yes, please." 

She nods. "Dad kept me a secret because he thought the nogitsune might not be gone," she says. "And then, I think he wanted me out of the supernatural side of things." 

"Unlikely that would ever happen," Peter comments. 

She smiles. "True. So.. he dragged his feet. I kept asking, he kept refusing. And I think he realised after I graduated… it was going to happen whether or not he was on board," she says. "He was relieved Stiles was gone so far away. Not that Stiles was evil. But… you know how you can react irrationally when your family's…" 

Peter winces. "Yes, I have experience with that," he concedes. 

Moving on quickly, she nods and resumes speaking. "And I fully intended to show up for summer break, with Stiles there. To tell him. Or show him. I knew it would be bad, then, but he has to know," she says. "And then he never came home. I've been looking for him as much as I can over the years, between every job. Him and his, ah, colleague." 

Peter's blank face transforms into a scowl. "How do you know about his _colleague?"_

"Dad figured it out a couple years ago. Scott told me again yesterday. I gave him hell." 

"Idiot," Peter mutters. 

"Agreed," Allison says before she drains her glass of water. "So, look. I know it's going to hurt him. He'll find out you all knew and no one told him. Derek… Derek had his hands tied, considering the agreement Dad pretty much forced him into, and I'll try to explain that if Stiles lets me. 

"But, even though this will hurt Stiles, he needs to know so he can stop carrying my death on his shoulders. Even if it's only a small weight by now. He deserves to know he can cut that loose. He needs to know everything so he can make an honest, educated decision about what to do next." 

After a long pause, Peter tilts his head. "All right. I assume this place has a mundane library?" he asks. 

Allison nods, pointing to the room off the living room. "Through there," she tells him. 

Peter heads off in that direction, Allison following behind him. They enter the room; Peter turns his attention to the volumes of books and Allison watches him with a puzzled expression on her face. 

"Ah, yes," he says, mostly to himself. "I forgot your father likes poetry. Perfect." 

She stays in the doorway, watching him pull books down and search their tables of contents, one by one. He selects three and takes them over to a desk. 

As he flips through the books, apparently looking for specific pages in two of them, he speaks. 

"If, at any time, it appears that your intentions are less than honourable—for instance, if it seems as if you're advocating on behalf of McCall—or if you effectively and permanently destroy the tentative line of communication Derek and Stiles have recently started, I will come for you, _Christina Valet,"_ he says. "Not directly, of course, but I do a lot of watching and waiting in my spare time. I see things. Highway ditches and campgrounds aren't where I usually like to sit and observe, but sometimes I end up in strangely fortuitous places." 

Allison sucks in a sharp breath, but she remains silent. Peter could have been after Deaton—for revenge, on behalf of his pack—and he would have hidden to watch the encounter unfold. She'd never considered Peter would take action, even with her extensive planning. 

Does he have proof? 

Probably, judging by the pleased smirk on his face. 

"I am going to do my best to help Stiles," she says. 

His smirk turns into a grin. "And your best is very good," he comments. He gestures down at the books. "Here's your clue. I'll show myself out." 

As he saunters towards her, Allison moves around him and towards the desk. She looks at the three books. The first is open to a poem, "Excelsior" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; the second is open to another poem, "Excelsior" by Walt Whitman. The third book is closed. Its title, _Excelsior_ , and author, Alexandru Macedonski, shimmer up at her. 

"I guess I'm going to Excelsior," she mutters.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Allison knew it was going to go badly. Her father had been so sure, believing that Derek would see her and understand what Chris was attempting before agreeing to help keep the secret  _ and  _ agreeing to a treaty between the remaining Argents and the local werewolves, and nothing Allison could say would convince him otherwise. But, she  _ knew. 

_ Chris never saw the way Derek took in Stiles' opinions—even if it took Derek a long time to process or absorb them. He never saw the way Derek  _ listened _ to Stiles in a way he rarely applied to the teenage werewolves. They had some sort of bond—whether it was friendship or something else—and Allison knew Derek was going to be offended by Chris' demands.  _

_ She hadn't expected him to full-out roar, though.  _

_ It took Derek a minute, as if he weren't sure of what he was seeing. Allison had dyed her hair and had regular appointments to alter her lips and cheekbones with cosmetic injections; she looked a lot like Allison, but she looked different enough that a couple hunters who had known her as Allison only blinked when she introduced herself as Christina Valet, Chris' cousin through a long and twisted family tree. So, Derek stared at her when he walked into the Argent warehouse, and when he was certain he knew who she really was, he protested and tried to leave.  _

_ Chris didn't let him leave—his second mistake of the day, Allison thought.  _

_ Mountain ash was released through a mechanism, crossing the doors to trap Derek in the large space.  _

_ "No one knows," Chris said. "I'm not letting you out of here until we reach an agreement."  _

_ The roar Derek expelled vibrated through every inch of Allison's body.  _

_ "You use this to force me into a treaty? Glad to see you've stuck to your family's ideas of honour," Derek snarled.  _

_ Chris winced. "I'm allowing this to happen because I trust you," he said.  _

_ Derek flinched as if Chris struck him. "I don't need or want your trust."  _

_ "Stiles—"  _

_ "Is no longer possessed," Derek interrupted, seemingly discontent with the way Chris' explanation began. "I assume that's why you kept this to yourself. You let him suffer for months, waiting and watching to see if he'd do something to justify killing him. I know about your stakeouts. The nogitsune is trapped outside of Stiles' body. No one can access it, where it's hidden."  _

_ "This is my daughter's life on the line. I need to be sure!" Chris responded in a heated tone.  _

_ Derek's eyes flashed bright red before he said, "So you're not screwing with a traumatised young man  _ just  _ for sport."  _

_ "I'm willing to inform you of any hunters passing through the county," Chris said as he opened a portfolio and produced a sheaf of papers. "If danger comes to the territory, I will assist in any way. Allison's life will not be revealed until  _ I  _ permit it—" _

_ "Dad, you can't—" _

_ "In return, I expect to be informed on a regular basis about the activities of your pack," Chris continued. "If there are any internal struggles, I'd like to be kept in the loop—" _

_ Allison wasn't surprised when Derek snorted and shook his head.  _

_ "This is insane," Derek said. "You let all of them think Allison's dead. For what? Safety? To let her get out of Beacon Hills? You think she'll ever be content to live a normal life? Does she know what's been going on here?"  _

_ "Derek, I want Stiles to know," Allison said. "I don't blame him. I don't… I know he needs to know."  _

_ Derek turned his glare onto her. "You haven't the slightest idea what he needs," he growled.  _

_ Because the meeting wasn't going badly enough, Chris snorted. "And you do?" he inquired.  _

_ "At least I'm trying," Derek muttered. "You… this is fucked up." _

_ Allison nodded in agreement. She knew it was a terrible situation. But, what could she have done? Chris had been determined; he shipped her off to a strict boarding school in the middle of the country. She could have disobeyed him, but he'd been scared of losing her, and they were the only family they had left after Gerard's last attempt to burn Beacon Hills to the ground.  _

_ Could she have gone against his wishes? Would he have forgiven her? _

_ And hadn't she been a little worried, in the beginning, too?  _

_ The nogitsune might have jumped to another person. It could return wearing Stiles' face. She'd seen enough crazy in her brief time in Beacon Hills to believe anything was possible—or to believe that maybe her father wasn't completely overreacting. But, there had to be a compromise or else no agreement or alliance would be possible.  _

_ As Chris continued to outline his expectations for their agreement, Allison walked over to the back of their sport-utility vehicle and busied herself with looking over the new compartments Chris has installed in the trunk. She thought she saw Derek pull out his phone—an action missed by Chris, who was reading from one of the papers—but when she turned to fully look at him, there was no phone in either of his clenched fists. She looked at Derek; he arched an eyebrow as if asking a question without using his words.  _

_ She didn't have any words to give back to him.  _

_ "…any bites that are not the result of an emergency must be discussed before the bite is given," Chris continued. "Any increase in numbers—even in a position like emissary—"  _

_ "Are you kidding me?" Derek asked, cutting off Chris' recitation of his so-called agreement. "You were the one who called Deaton off his quest to find someone to train Stiles. We would have had an emissary, or is that why you put a stop to it? He doesn't fit your idea of an emissary so we don't get a say in the matter?"  _

_ "What?" Chris asked in response.  _

_ Derek shook his head. "Deaton told me you made him stop. I asked him to find someone who could train him, full time, and he said you made him stop," he explained.  _

_ After a moment of thinking, Chris frowned. "After the nogitsune? That's not exactly what I discussed with him," he said.  _

_ Allison flinched when Derek snarled. "What gives you the right to play with people this way?" he demanded, glaring at Chris. "You say you're an ally, but you're just trying to control us again. Let me out of here,  _ now.  _ We're done." _

_ "Derek—" _

_ "You have no right to control me or the others this way," Derek said. "Any pack business will remain  _ pack  _ business—not Argent business. Especially not while you're keeping this secret from the one person who needs to know it. You putting me in this position is not worthy of allyship or trust."  _

_ Allison moved toward one of the doorways. Even though her father had hoped Derek and the pack could be brought to agreement with the revelation that Allison was still alive, Allison had known Derek wouldn't be pleased with his attempt. It had started badly, it was ending worse; before everything between Derek and Chris completely disintegrated, she wanted to put a stop to their argument.  _

_ "Derek, you letting the pack get out of control isn't worthy of trust, either," Chris commented. "You think I can't see what's happening?"  _

_ "That is my business—not yours," Derek snapped.  _

_ "Then fix it," Chris shot back. "You think Talia would have—" _

_ Derek growled. "You have no right to talk about her."  _

_ "Okay, enough!" Allison interrupted. Both men turned their glares on her. "This isn't working. Dad, your terms are insane. If you're expecting Derek to give his autonomy to you… even I know that's nuts.  _

_ "Derek, I'm sorry we haven't been forthcoming. I want Stiles to know. He shouldn't carry this guilt longer than he has to. Just… Dad's freaking out and he doesn't want me to die and he's acting irrationally—which is something I'm sure you can understand." _

_ She bent down in front of the doorway. Even though Chris started to protest, she swiped her fingers through the ash and broke the line.  _

_ "I will tell the pack—and Stiles—when Dad is ready," she continued. "I would appreciate you keeping this to yourself until that time."  _

_ Derek stared at her, eyes flashing for a brief moment, before he marched past her and left the building.  _

_ Chris wasn't very happy with her, either.  _

_ "This is not what I wanted," Chris said.  _

_ She arched an eyebrow. "Did you really think he'd let you control who he can bite or invite into the pack?" she asked.  _

_ "I'd planned to be bargained down from that position," Chris admitted.  _

_ Allison snorted. "Dad… c'mon," she said. "Derek will never fully trust you. Not after everything Kate and Gerard did. And this isn't helping."  _

_ "Maybe I don't completely trust him, either," Chris muttered. "Victoria would still be with us—" _

_ He sighed, stopped talking, and shook his head. Allison understood; she missed her mother, too. But, she also knew that Victoria had tried to kill Scott and Derek had gone to his rescue. In the moment, she hadn't been willing to see the truth; it had seemed like Derek attacked Victoria, unprompted. Over time, the truth had come out and she understood. The truth hadn't made her happy, but she understood what had happened. Victoria could have learned to live as a werewolf—and might have been able to control the pack from the inside, although Allison doesn't like to think about that possibility—but she had chosen to handle the consequences the way her traditions demanded she handle them.  _

_ "You don't know that," Allison whispered.  _

_ He nodded. "I know… you're right," he conceded.  _

_ "You've gotta find an intermediary or something," Allison said. "Someone who can be a neutral party. He might agree then." _

_ Chris nodded.  _

_ "And lighten up on the terms," Allison added.  _

_ After a brief grimace, Chris nodded again.  _

_ Allison hoped they'd be able to find a way to make an agreement with the pack.  _

#####

"I need some more time," Allison says as she shoves her sleep shirt into her backpack. "And any information you might have on Excelsior. I got a tip my friend is there. Somewhere." 

The other end of her phone call was silent for a moment. 

_ "Do you want backup?"  _ Sam finally asks. 

Allison smiles and shakes her head, even if Sam can't see the gesture. He spends most of his time in Lebanon, Kansas, at their base of operations; he and his brother, Dean, aren't as active with hunting as they used to be, but they help with research and training regularly. Allison once asked them if they missed the work; they both admitted to missing it, but also to being sick of near-death experiences. Later, as she got to know Sam better, Sam admitted that he finds their work at the bunker just as satisfying, because they are helping people protect other people—and because they are trying to keep the supernatural off of more mundane forms of radar. 

He also has a tendency to jump in and offer his services when Allison finds herself in difficult situations. Mary tries to get Sam to stop, but her son is as stubborn as she is (if not more); Dean teases both of them for having overly weird and/or protective crushes on each other. The others in their group don't really comment. Jody said once that it's none of their business and Allison appreciates that they seem to be adhering to that opinion. 

Allison understands Sam's tendencies. They might not be together- _ together,  _ but they do care about each other. They've seen each other through good times and bad. They've celebrated and mourned. 

And, yes, they have hooked up  _ way  _ more than once, over the years—especially in the last couple of years. They go through periods where they practically live together, before Allison disappears on a hunt or to try to find Stiles. 

Maybe they are together _ -together. _

"Is Excelsior that dangerous?" she replies. "Am I going into the hellmouth?" 

Sam chuckles.  _ "It's not that bad a place. Just a lot of magic in one area, so it makes me nervous,"  _ he replies.  _ "Be careful, okay? If you need help, call. I'll head out your way."  _

"My friend isn't involved in anything, but I'll keep you posted, I promise," she says. "Any big plans on your end?"

_ "Translating that book Claire brought back," _ Sam replies. 

As she tucks her cosmetics kit into her bag, Allison says, "Sounds like a wild Friday night." 

_ "Saving all the wildness for when you return." _

Her cheeks flush as she thinks about the last time Sam said something like that. They'd met in the middle of the country; Allison was on her way back from destroying surveillance video of a pack's full moon run, Sam was on his way to meet with a client. They'd shacked up in a cheap motel and—

She shivers as she remembers. Sam chuckles as if he knows exactly what she's thinking. 

"Sounds good," she murmurs. "I… um… what's everyone else up to?"

_ "Dean's cooking with Charlie—they're prepping a big movie marathon night. Mom's heading out on a relocation job in a couple hours," _ he replies.  _ "Jody and Donna are working somewhere near Sioux Falls, and Patience, Kaia, and Claire are hanging out with Alex."  _

"Maybe you should take the night off, too," Allison suggests. "Save the translation for—"

_ "If you want me to take the night off, then I suggest you get back here and make me," _ Sam interrupts. 

Allison snorts. "Okay, okay. I'm gonna hit the road and see if I can get this done. Or started." 

_ "Good luck," _ Sam tells her. 

"Thanks." 

#####

_ After letting loose an arrow and hitting the hanging (and swinging) target, Allison knew she was not alone. Valerie and Devon would make noise to let her know they were there; the school staff would be scolding her for spending too much time on the archery field. She expected to see her father, eyeing her form critically, and she was surprised to see an unfamiliar blonde woman in a fitted, black suit.  _

_ "Christina Valet?" _

_ Allison nodded and relaxed her stance.  _

_ "Or would you prefer to be called Allison Argent?" _

_ In a brief moment, Allison drew an arrow from her pack and tensed. "Who are you?" she demanded.  _

_ The woman raised her hands. "Easy. I'm not here to hurt you," she said. "I told the school my name is Agent Lita Ford, with the Federal Bur—" _

_ "Like… in The Runaways?" Allison asked, narrowing her eyes.  _

_ She smiled. "Yes, exactly. But, I'm really Mary Winchester. I'd like to talk to you about your plans for the future."  _

_ "Why?"  _

_ Mary shrugged. "I heard through the grapevine that the Argents' motto has changed, and I wanted to meet the person responsible," she replied. "Your new motto is in line with the work my family and I do, and I want to see if you'd be a good fit."  _

_ "Dad—" _

_ "Won't fit," Mary said, shaking her head. "He's pretty stationary. We're a group of hunters and associates who can travel. Mainly women—but that's not a strict rule, since my sons pitch in on the work when they're available." _

_ "What sort of work is that?" Allison asked before she could stop herself. _

_ Mary smiled. "Protecting people who need protection. Stopping people, like fanatical hunters, who believe they're beyond the law. Keeping the supernatural a secret from the mundane world," she said.  _

_ With those three sentences, Allison felt her nervous curiosity give way to genuine interest. She hadn't given much thought to how she would return to her family's work; she'd assumed she would return to Beacon Hills and start there, but Mary seemed to be offering her work on a wider scale.  _

_ "How… how would it work?" she asked.  _

_ "We find jobs, we complete them," Mary replied. "It's not always paid work—there just isn't enough of it. But, we keep an eye out for issues. Sometimes we need to wipe the supernatural element from a police case. Sometimes we have to rescue people and get them to their kind. It's protection from threats and elimination of threats, depending on the day. _

_ "We have a small group of hunters, a dream walker, and a psychic, to do the regular work. Our psychic helps us find cases or people—she found you, actually," Mary continued. "We have a bit of downtime. Some of them have jobs, outside of our cause. Some of them do freelance work unrelated to hunting—like online tutoring or selling crafts. Two of the youngest do online college courses between jobs. We have a facility in Lebanon where we live, work, and train. Nearly completely off the grid. We're family. We make it work."  _

_ "I… my friends…" _

_ Mary shrugged. "You wouldn't be forbidden from seeing them," she said. "You can work the West Coast, more than the rest of us, if you decide to spend more time there. We're not unreasonable."  _

_ "It… it sounds tempting," Allison admitted.  _

_ As Mary's smile stretched, her body posture relaxed a bit more. "Do you ever get free weekends?" she asked. "We're based a few hours from here. I could take you, show you around, introduce you to the others if they're around."  _

_ Allison thought about the rules. Parents took their children out for weekends and holidays; they only needed to make the plans in advance and have someone identify themselves at the main office. She didn't even think they really checked. It might be weird if someone other than Chris requested she be permitted to leave—but she doubted they'd notice anything was amiss as long as Mary had some sort of (seemingly) legitimate documentation.  _

_ Even if Mary were the  _ bad _ sort of hunter, Allison thought she could handle the situation. She'd be armed. She'd faced off against crazy alpha werewolves; she could handle one hunter.  _

_ She could call her father and ask about hunter families in the area. He could confirm if the Winchesters were legitimate—or if they held a grudge against the Argents.  _

_ "All I have to do is have a guardian sign me out," Allison explained. "They're supposed to check, but I don't think they ever do."  _

_ Mary nodded. "I'll figure something out," she said. "Can I have your number to call you?"  _

_ Without hesitation, Allison rattled off her new phone number. Mary typed it into her phone and then pocketed the device. Allison knew she should be suspicious and on edge, but something about the woman in front of her reminded Allison of both her father and her mother. Mary didn't seem as extreme or as intense as her mother, but she had that same quiet strength and certainty that both of Allison's parents demonstrated.  _

_ Nothing about Mary's demeanor reminded her of Kate or Gerard. There was no excessively predatory glint in Mary's eyes. If she were an extremist hunter type, she was adept at hiding it even better than Gerard could.  _

_ The idea of having a team—support—appealed to Allison. The idea of helping in a way that didn't necessarily mean hunting down a rogue werewolf really appealed to Allison. She could help her friends and family, if Mary's offer were genuine. She could protect the people in the world who need protecting—from hunters, from science, from governments. It seemed as if she were being asked to contribute to a worthy goal. _


	5. Chapter 5

Looking at the Instagram account for The Ink Institute tells Allison that Alec Lightwood isn't in the studio because his sister, Isabelle, a renowned jewelry designer from New York City, is visiting San Francisco; it also tells her that there are two visiting artists at the shop in Excelsior, and they and Clary Fray are hosting a walk-in day. It's disappointing to realise she won't be immediately connecting with one of Stiles' known friends, but she decides to continue with her original plan because it might help her understand who these magic users are. Getting the lay of the land might help her in her approach to Stiles and his friends. 

The shop is built into an old church. Her assumption that there must have been considerable refurbishment done is confirmed as soon as she walks inside and sees the glow of technology and glass panelling beneath the church's older fixtures, like the exposed arches in the ceiling. It's a beautiful building, mixing old and new together, and she feels some of the nervousness in her chest ease as she allows herself to appreciate the location. 

The nervousness snaps back into place when Clary comes into the lobby. 

"Hey, you're new," Clary says, grinning as she brushes her long, red hair off of her face and shoulders. "What can I get you?" 

"It's still walk-in day, right?" Allison asks. 

There were no other people in the lobby. Allison expected it to be busy, packed with people looking for work by Clary or their guest artists, but no one else was waiting with her. 

Clary laughs. "Yeah, it is. Oblivious mundanes go to the other entrance, where our guests artists are set up," she explains. "You came through here, so I'm guessing you're in the know. We have enchantments set up. What can I do for you?" 

Pulling up the hem of her shirt, Allison exposes the anti-possession tattoo she'd had inked into the skin over her hip at Mary's insistence. "I have this, but I'd like to… I mean, is there anything else you recommend I add?" she asks. 

As she studied the work, Clary pressed her lips together. She took a step back, towards the desk, and she crossed her arms. 

"Are you a hunter?" 

"No. Yes. Sort of?" Allison tries to respond. Clary raises her eyebrows. Allison sighs and tries again. "I work with the Winchesters. I don't know if that helps. I'm trying… I'm trying to protect people. I'm not like—I mean, I'm not a bad hunter. I don't… my last job was a sorcerer killing kids, if that helps. In L.A. Not to brag. Just to say… okay, that may be a bad example, but I've gone after hunters who do terrible things, too." 

Clary's eyes widen. "You… I heard about that. Thank you for finding the other bones. A friend was able to help put them to rest."

Allison shifts and nods. "I didn't know. I stumbled onto the case while looking for an old friend," she admits. "It just got worse and worse. But, I'm glad I could save those two kids." 

"Well. How about something to help you find your way?" Clary asks, smiling a little. "A compass could fit on your wrist. I can use our magic ink on the cardinal points, and the colour should shift in the direction you should go." 

"That will work? On me? But, I'm not—" 

"It might not last more than a couple years, but you can always come back for touch-ups," Clary explains. She moves behind the desk and focuses on a computer. "I'll put the design and ink potion information in your file, so if you come back, we'll have that information at hand and know exactly what you need. It won't hurt you. It's not a complicated spell. Shouldn't take more than a little energy—like enough for a five minute walk, if that—to maintain it when you need it." 

Since that didn't sound like a terrible expenditure, Allison nods. "Sounds great," she agrees. 

"What's your name? I can start the file here and then I can show you some of my designs that would work." 

Allison hesitates. Should she use  _ Christina Valet? _ Should she use  _ Allison Argent? _

"Christina Valet," she says, after deciding it would be best to keep the alias with which she interacts with the world. 

Clary nods. "Any unique spelling?"

"A C and an H. No Y's or X's," Allison replies. 

With a little smile, Clary types her name into the computer. She asks for Allison's contact information, including an emergency contact, and Allison gives her both Mary's and Chris' numbers—but she doesn't give Clary their last names. Clary nods along, accepting the information Allison gives her, and she turns the monitor around so Allison can see it when she's done. 

"All right. Flash. So. We have a couple compasses. I can put the ink in the notches around the compass needle, so it's pretty discrete," Clary says as she gestures to the images on the screen. "I could do a flower, and the petals could change colours, but that might be noticeable. Anything else here with a dial or circle could work, too." 

Allison smiles. She likes the second compass. It looks real, except that the needle looks like an actual arrow, and it appeals to her love of archery. 

"Can I have that one?" she asks, pointing to it. 

"Sounds good. Forearm?" Clary says in response. "Would be easy to see—and point." 

After Allison nods in agreement, Clary types a couple more pieces of shorthand information into Allison's chart; then, she whisks Allison through the lobby and into a small room down a long, well-lit hallway. It doesn't take long before Allison is sitting in a chair, with her arm across a padded bench, watching Clary use her gloved fingers to press the stenciled design to Allison's pale forearm. 

"Like it?" Clary asks. 

"Yes… it's… yeah, I really like it," Allison murmurs. 

Even if it weren't to be applied with magical ink, there's something about the symbol of the compass that appeals to Allison. She's been searching for years; it seems fitting that she has something on her skin to commemorate the journey and process. 

Clary smiles at her. "Okie doke. Just sit tight and I'll get the gear together," she says. 

As Allison watches Clary rifling through cabinets and drawers, putting everything she'll need on a tray table, she feels a fluttering of hope in her chest. She's so close to finding Stiles; she knows it won't be easy, but she also knows that this is the major step to bringing the pack back together. With no more secrets between them, they can heal. Feliks might have sibling rivalry issues, compounded by werewolf tendencies, perhaps, but everything else  _ surely _ could be fixed by coming together and talking honestly. 

It doesn't take long before Clary has her hands gloved and her tattoo gun whirring. Allison sits quietly, watching the red-haired artist work. She outlines and wipes, over and over; then, she switches to filling in and wiping, over and over. Without colour, it is still a striking design, but Allison is excited when Clary pulls the coloured pots towards her and begins working on the watercolour swirls around the compass and on the coloured points around the compass' face. 

While putting ink into Allison's skin, Clary is mostly quiet. Allison doesn't know if she's a generally quiet person or if she needs focus to imbue the tattoo with whatever magic is going to help it direct Allison. Either way, Allison follows Clary's lead and stays quiet, too, except to reply or respond to anything Clary says. She has questions about Stiles or Jimmy, obviously, but she also knows it probably isn't the best time to ask them; she can wait until their focus is not drawn to the needles embedding ink in Allison's skin. 

After an hour, or maybe a bit longer, Clary wipes her tender arm for the last time and starts with the aftercare. 

"This ointment has magic in it," she explains as she wraps and tapes gauze to Allison's arm. "It will keep the spell in the ink, more or less, as your skin heals. Don't go looking at other tattoo shops' aftercare instructions. We're different. 

"Keep it covered for a day. Then, let it breathe, but keep applying this goop. Once in the morning, once in the evening. At least. You can wear long sleeves if you want, but they might get stuck to your skin. 

"It will take a week or so, probably, before it starts working—and, even then, you'll have to experiment before you can use it reliably."

After those instructions, Clary pauses and eyes Allison. "Are you okay?" she asks. 

Allison blinks and nods. "Yeah… yes. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind."

Clary smiles. "You ready to come back to the front?" 

Nodding again, Allison stands. Clary watches her as she stretches and takes her first few steps; by the time they reach the door, though, Clary's attentive gaze has faded into something more relaxed. 

"Making it work won't be hard. It's not a spell… there's no incantation, but you do sort of have to think at it with intent, if that makes sense," Clary says, walking ahead of Allison to guide her through the corridor. "Sort of like meditation. It won't change colours or anything while you're thinking regular thoughts. The potion and sigil look for intention." 

"There's a sigil?" Allison asks. 

Clary's smile stretches into a grin as she peeks at Allison from over her shoulder. "Yeah, the blue watercolour swirls," she says. "Disguised so it won't be too obvious. In case you need to worry about that." 

"That's… well, that's amazing. I've seen a lot of magic tattoos—just in general, not on bad guys—and they've always been so obvious—" 

"There are different styles and different methods to get to the same point," Clary interjects as she opens the door to the front reception area. "My business partner has started incorporating subtlety into his designs, too. He started very obvious, but the last piece he did on a friend of ours… you'd hardly be able to tell it's magical unless you know what you're looking for. 

Allison smiles, but she wonders if Clary is referring to Stiles. 

"I, uh, I met someone once who had a lot of tattoos," she says, thinking of her father's description of the markings on Stiles' skin. "Some looked magical. Did you guys do any of his work?" 

Clary smirks. "Now, why would I tell you that?" 

When Allison shrugs, Clary chuckles. "Oh, c'mon, what's his name? Maybe we do know him," she cajoles as she slips behind the desk and starts typing something into the computer. 

"Jimmy Travers," Allison says. 

Even if she weren't watching Clary closely, her reaction would have been obvious. Her smile vanished and her lips pressed together in a thin line. Her shoulders didn't raise or lower, but they did tense. 

Clary glances at the computer's monitor before meeting Allison's eyes. "It's five hundred for the tattoo," she says. "That includes time, supplies, and magic. You can pay in installments because we didn't talk price before—I'm always forgetting that—or you can pay the lump sum now." 

"I'll pay the whole amount now, if you take debit," Allison says. 

She has a feeling Clary is not to be pushed on the subject of Stiles. She doesn't know if that's some sort of magical energy from Clary or Allison's own sense of self-preservation, but she's not going to rail against it. 

Clary hands her the card reader. Allison puts a two-hundred-dollar tip on the price. She can afford it. She has her family's blood money in her account and she likes using it in her quest to protect supernatural beings; she likes to imagine Gerard's fury when he finds that she uses his money to save werewolves, and this compass will help her do that, in its own way. 

"It's not a bribe," she says as she hands back the device. "It's a thank you. For this work, and for what you do for the community." 

"I won't betray him like that," Clary whispers. 

Allison nods. "I've been hoping to connect with him for a while. To talk, as friends. Hopefully. If he can forgive me. But, I understand. I do."

On that note, Allison puts her card back into her pocket. She thanks Clary again, and then she heads for the exit. She could push, but she knows it's a bad idea; she wants them to accept her when she finally does connect with Stiles. 

#####

_ Chris sending a parcel to Allison's new box address, based in Lebanon, was unexpected. Ever since Allison told him she was planning on staying with the Winchesters' group, Chris had oscillated between too much conversation over the phone (in an attempt to change her mind) and complete radio silence. She had texted him his mailing address, asking for some of her possessions; after they arrived, she hadn't planned on receiving anything else.  _

_ But, holding the thick, manilla envelope made Allison wonder what else he could be sending her.  _

_ She waited until she was in her room, a small dormitory-type of room that Mary said had been a part of the building's original features, before reaching for her phone and calling her father.  _

"Did the package arrive?" _ he asked, as soon as he answered the call.  _

_ "Yeah, what is this?" she replied.  _

_ Chris grunted.  _ "Open it." 

_ She reached for a nearby ring dagger and sliced open the top of the envelope. A stack of papers fell out into her lap when she tipped it over and gave it a gentle shake. The cover sheet was a letter from her family's lawyers, instructing Christina Valet to sign on the tabs in the presence of a notary; the cover sheet also reminded Miss Valet that the document had already been filed, and she would be expected to adhere to the guidelines in the future. She didn't understand until she started flipping through the rest of the papers.  _

_ As her eyes landed on a rather official looking court document, Allison cursed under her breath.  _

"Yeah. Derek took a photo of you, apparently, and sent it to Parrish. He told the deputy that you're Kate's best friend, and he's seen you around town. He said he wants there to be a paper trail in case you decide to avenge Kate,"  _ Chris explained in her ear.  _ "Parrish acted fast. Whittemore helped, because the last thing he wants is another war between hunters and werewolves, now that he knows about his son." 

_ Allison stared at the page. She couldn't believe that Derek had gone so far—but she could, at the same time.  _

_ IN THE JUSTICE COURT OF BEACON HILLS TOWNSHIP _ _   
_ _ BEACON COUNTY, STATE OF CALIFORNIA _ __   
_ DEREK S. HALE, Applicant vs. CHRISTINA A. VALET, Adverse Party _ _   
_ __ TEMPORARY ORDER FOR PROTECTION AGAINST STALKING, AGGRAVATED STALKING, OR HARASSMENT (CLETS-TRO)

_ "Dad…"  _

"It's only temporary for now," _ Chris said.  _ "We're trying to get it overturned, but—" __

_ "Dad, don't," Allison interrupted, her voice quiet. "The only way to fix it is to tell them.  _ All  _ of them."  _

_ Chris made another grunting sort of sound. She knew he wouldn't be pleased with her perseverance on the subject—he never was—but she also knew the pack deserved to know that she survived the nogitsune. She'd disagreed in the beginning, despite Chris' protective nature, and she still disagreed; the only difference between earlier and later was that her feeling on the subject had intensified.  _

"We'll do it while you're still with the hunters, then,"  _ Chris decided.  _

_ Allison agreed with a soft "Yes."  _

"Are you okay?"  _ Chris asked.  _ "Training isn't too dangerous?" __

_ After a little snort, Allison said, "It's fine, Dad. I mean… I got my anti-possession tattoo, and Mary has me going through all sorts of weapons. It's not bad. You should see their library… I want to just read all of it, but I don't think my head can contain it all."  _

_ "I still want to meet with her," Chris insisted.  _

_ "Well, I'll see if you can come here for the big reveal. Probably safer than with the pack," Allison reasoned. "Not that I think they'd hurt you, but they might ask you questions—" _

_ "You think I can't lie in a roomful of werewolves?" Chris asked. _

_ "I think it will undermine any attempt to salvage your working relationship if you do," she said.  _

_ Chris sighed loudly. "Yeah… yeah, okay," he conceded.  _

_ "I'll ask Mary. If it's okay, you can stay here. If not… you can stay in town and I'll come to you and we'll do it," she said, knowing she sounded more certain that she felt.  _

_ It was going to be difficult. Chris might have agreed to (finally) go along with her plan, but she knew that moving forward and trying to fix the situation wasn't going to be easy. Still, she was determined to try to see it through to the end.  _


	6. Chapter 6

Allison decided her next stop would be a club called Pandemonium West, located deep within Excelsior. Magnus Bane's company—or the alias' company, anyway—is listed as being the property owner; she hopes someone is there who knows Stiles and is comfortable putting her in touch with him. It's her second best option, considering none of the people on her list have yet to be found. 

Dressed in her skinny jeans, loose tank top, and leather jacket, she walks the short distance from her hotel room to the club. The energy in the air, the closer she nears the establishment, seems charged with electric energy. She has goosebumps on her skin by the time she reaches the velvet rope and she knows the bouncer sees her shiver, but she doesn't bother hiding it. Her nerve will be needed inside; she doesn't bother using it up outside. 

She uses a mix of her female wiles and hunter credentials to be admitted into the club. The bouncer doesn't look pleased at the reveal of her anti-possession tattoo, but when she smiles her most adorable dimpled smile and says she's a client of Bane and Travers, he nods and unclips the barrier for her. Before she slips past him, she lets her smile stretch into a grin and she thanks him. 

Of course, her decision to wield both Magnus' and Jimmy's names comes with a cost.

The woman who approaches her is new—in terms of the players of which Allison is already familiar—and her smirk puts Allison on a slight edge. 

"You don't look like a client," she says, eyeing Allison up and down. 

"Are you their assistant?" Allison asks. 

"Bitch, please. Bane doesn't work for hunters anymore, and Travers… well. They don't want to work with him, which suits him just fine," the woman says as she brushes a hand through her wavy brown hair. "I saw you flash your tat. Billy gave me a heads up, but I was already watching. Looking for my new toy." 

"I'm not… I'm not a bad hunter," Allison says, almost shouting to be overheard. 

"Anyone with violent intentions can't come in. Sanctuary spell," the woman informs her. "But, I've learned my lesson, too. Hunters can't be trusted—even when they say they're good… or  _ not bad." _

Allison is unsure of the appropriate response. 

The woman grins. "Come to the bar," she offers. "Have a drink. Tell me why you lied to get in. I might help you." 

At that, Allison nods. The woman leads her through the crowd, weaving expertly through the people. Instead of waiting in the masses around the very visible bar, the woman tugs Allison past the people and up a set of stairs. The upper level has a bouncer, too, and the woman exchanges a few words with him before they continue towards the smaller, more vacant bar at the back of the space. 

The bartender doesn't ask either of them what they want. He smiles at the woman and at Allison and puts two drinks in front of them: something that looks like champagne poured on top of brightly coloured and very thick syrup for the woman, and something that Allison very much hopes is a caesar for herself. 

"Thanks, Lorne," the woman says. 

"Anything for you, my queen." 

The woman grins, her nose wrinkling a little, as she guides Allison to one of the sofas in the back of the room. 

"Lorne is an amazing bartender," the woman says. "He just  _ knows _ what you want. That's why he's in the VIP section." 

"Oh… that's where we are?" Allison asks. 

"You've never been here before?" 

Allison shakes her head. "No… I'm based out of Kansas, but I have friends and family in California," she says. She pauses and sips her drink; it's the most perfect caesar she's ever tasted. After a smack of her lips, she resumes speaking. "I've been looking for Jimmy, off and on, for years, and I need—I mean, it's really important that I see him." 

The woman sits down on the sofa, crossing her boot-clad legs. "Interesting… we just dealt with a bunch of hunters who were after Jimmy. Are you one of them?" 

"No!" Allison exclaimed. "I swear, I'm not," she adds in a more quiet voice. "Please… if you can put us in touch… it's important." 

"Who are you?" the woman asks. 

"Who are you?" Allison shoots back as she sits down next to her host. 

The woman laughs. "I'm Margo Hanson," she says. 

Allison's eyes widen. She knows of Margo Hanson. She's seen the destruction the witch has wrought. No one in the compound survived—man, woman, or creature. Sam and Dean had been relieved, at the time; many of her victims had been awful people and the rest had been beyond saving. But, the scene of the crime had made an impression in Allison's memory. 

"You saw what I did to the Men of Letters—or their pathetic attempt at an American resurgence, anyway," Margo says. "Did I kill your family? Can't say I feel guilty. They were disgusting excuses for protectors. You might have run into them, but you have no idea what they were planning."

"I… I live in one of their repurposed bunkers," Allison admits. "The group I'm with… they're against what the Men of Letters represent." 

Margo shrugs. "They're Europe's problem for now. They'll be back, though. They hate how we handle things. Informal councils and networks," she says. 

"Well…" 

"You think a bunch of old, white aristocrats should be in charge of how we live?" Margo asks. 

Allison frowns. "No, of course not. But, how is anyone held accountable? How am I held accountable? Or you?" 

"Family, true friends, and a healthy respect for karmic retribution go a lot further than you'd think," Margo replies. "They were turning omega wolves feral, through horrific means, and using them to hunt and kill people who don't fall in line. I have no regrets." 

Allison pictures the pack at the hands of the Men of Letters. Her heart aches at the thought of them being turned into killers—and at being killed by abused and mistrained wolves. 

"I suppose you're Mary's newest recruit, then." 

She snaps back to attention to see Margo watching her carefully over the rim of her glass. 

"You can call me Christina Valet," Allison says. 

"And what do you and your little group want with Jimmy Travers?" Margo asks 

Allison shrugs. "I don't think Mary or the others want anything to do with him," she replies. "This is my mission." 

"Setting that aside, for now, did you know you could find him here?"

"Are you… am I auditioning?" Allison asks in response. 

Margo snorts. After a sip of her bubbly concoction, she says, "I'm very protective of Jimmy. He's family. I'm not going to let just anyone have access to him." 

If they weren't actively getting between Allison and her goal, she would be impressed at how the magic users protect Stiles. It really feels like he has a good group of people around him; it feels like he found what he needs, when the pack couldn't (or wouldn't) give it to him. 

As if he melted out of the shadows, a man with glowing yellow eyes suddenly appears next to Margo. He is striking, dressed in flashy clothes made of rich colours and textures; his hair is artfully styled. At the first glimpse of his glowing eyes, she assumes he is a werewolf; at the second look, she realises the pupils are all wrong, or too narrow, for him to be a werewolf. 

"Who are you?" the man asks. 

"Magnus, babe, relax, I think we're getting to that point," Margo murmurs. She reaches out and curls her arm around the back of his thigh. In response, Magnus puts his hand on her shoulder. "This is Christina Valet. She told the bouncer she was here for you and Jimmy, but she doesn't know you. That much is clear." 

"Valet… like Sébastien and Marie-Jeanne?" Magnus inquires. 

His question is so out of left field that Allison physically startles. Margo makes a noise of surprise, looking from Allison to Magnus, as if she is waiting for someone to explain who those people are; Magnus watches Allison, his face cool and calm. 

"You are well-versed in history to be able to recall two names from the margins," Allison says. 

"You don't think I study my enemies?" Magnus replies. "Why did Argent send you here? To spy on us? To spy on our friend? Or are you here to finish the job?"

Margo arches an eyebrow. "That won't go well for you, if that's the case." 

"Argent didn't send me," Allison insists. "I wasn't in Beacon Hills when Sti—Jimmy, I mean. I wasn't there when he was there, I couldn't get there in time. But I have a message I have to give to him in person." 

Magnus snorts. "Right. Try that on someone else." 

"It's the truth!"

"He couldn't do the job in front of us or the mongrels, not that  _ they _ would care. So he sends someone to make sure it gets done when we're not on our guard," Magnus says. "I've seen your family's past and present. I know what you're capable of." 

Before Allison can say anything in her defense, Margo leans into Magnus and rubs her cheek against the side of his hip. 

"Mags… she works with Mary," Margo murmurs. 

"Mary and her boys are hunters, too, from a long line of… you have no idea," Magnus says. "I don't trust any of them. And I'm not the only one who has suspicions about them. Besides that, the ground in Beacon County—and around the world—is soaked with the blood of the Argents' victims. Including children. You can feel it if you know where to look."

Allison winces. The aspersions cast upon her family hit the wounds they are intended to strike. She knows she'll always be a convenient target for Kate's and Gerard's hatred. 

"I'm not like Gerard," Allison says, her voice quiet. "Or Kate. Our motto changed after we came back to Beacon Hills."

"Christopher married into the Witchhunter's family line," Magnus says. "How do we know you haven't taken up that mantle?" 

"I try to protect the supernatural!" Allison exclaims. "I work to keep the real world from mundane notice! I am not like them!"

She sucks in a deep breath and tries to calm herself. 

"My friends—my family," she says. "A lot of them are werewolves or—"

"If you're here on behalf of  _ that _ pack, you won't find a receptive audience," Magnus interjects. "They—"

"Did not treat Jimmy well," Allison says. "I know." 

Magnus sneers. "You have no idea," he growls. 

"I might be able to fix it. Or at least, get some stuff out in the open that could help things heal between them," Allison offers. "That's why I'm here. There are things Jimmy needs to know." 

"Why do you think we'd be supportive of this plan? They are selfish, inconsiderate—"

Margo moves so smoothly that it seems like she rolls into a standing position. Her hand on Magnus' leg travels up to his shoulder; her other hand is still holding her drink. With a small smirk on her face, she tips her head to one side and looks at Allison. 

"Tell us what you want to tell him and we'll pass the message on," she says. 

Allison shakes her head. "It needs to come from me," she insists. "It's… no, it's been too long. I can't pass this message to him through someone else." 

"And I can't trust you not to act like your family with a member of my family," Magnus responds. 

Her eyes sting as tears of frustration threaten to make an appearance. She is so close! But, with no one (so far) willing to put her in a room with Stiles, they might as well still be on different sides of the country. 

"I think it's time you leave," Magnus says before she can speak in her own defense. 

Defeated, for now, Allison takes one more sip of her drink, sets the glass on a nearby table, and walks away from them. 

#####

_ A second after Allison stepped in front of the tablet set up for the video conference, she was witness to a variety of reactions.  _

_ Scott burst into tears, while Feliks looked from what Allison assumed was Scott's feed to Allison's feed, eyes wide and mouth open.  _

_ Isaac gasped and walked off screen.  _

_ Erica turned to Boyd and waited until he nodded before turning back to her screen.  _

_ Cora curled her lip into a small snarl. At her left, Peter cackled and shook his head; at her right, Derek seemed to be fighting the urge to shift and attack  _ anything. 

_ Malia blinked.  _

_ Lydia's eyebrows climbed up toward her hairline and she let out a shaky breath as her eyes filled with tears. Next to her, Jackson cursed and muttered something under his breath. Next to him, Ethan curled an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of his head before whispering something in his ear.  _

_ "Yes, she's really alive," Chris said, at Allison's side. "I was trying to keep her safe."  _

_ Derek snorted and rolled his eyes.  _

"You… you… how?" _ Scott asked.  _

_ "You all left, she was still alive… just barely. I called in a favour," Chris explained the events as briefly as possible. "They airvac'd her to a hospital outside of Beacon County. I moved her out of California when she was stable."  _

_ Allison nodded. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you all right away… I wanted to wait until everyone could be brought in on the call, but—" _

_ Isaac, who'd come back into frame during Chris' response, interjected.  _ "We're all here. Derek could have given you our contact information in September… what took so long?" 

"Stiles,"  _ Boyd said.  _

_ She nodded again. "His old number's no good. If he has a cell, it isn't registered in his name," she said.  _

_ Lydia frowned.  _ "It isn't?" _ she asked.  _

_ "Feliks?" Allison prompted. "Do you have his new number?"  _

_ Frowning, Feliks shook his head. _ "It should be the old one. He calls Dad every few days," _ he replied.  _

_ Thinking that was weird, but not impossible, Allison shrugged and relayed more information. "I tried emailing him, too, but… he didn't reply. And his Facebook account is gone. Twitter and Tumblr, too," she told them.  _

"Stiles has a Twitter?" _ Scott asked.  _

"Tumblr's gross," _ Isaac muttered.  _

_ Was Allison the only person in the pack who knew how much of a research network Stiles had cobbled together? Sure, some of his posts were memes and other pieces of ridiculousness, but Allison knew he'd connected with other werewolves and emissaries in his joint ventures of learning as much as possible and trying to keep them all safe.  _

"Are you coming home for Christmas?" _ Scott asked, wiping his cheeks, finally.  _

_ "Maybe? I mean… I'm not… It's complicated," she said. "Your mom doesn't know. I don't want to tell the Sheriff until Stiles knows—"  _

"You can stay at the pack house! It's nearly finished!" _ Scott volunteered.  _ "That way, we can all hang out, and—"

_ Derek interjected before Scott could finish his thought.  _ "No, she can't. She's not allowed within one hundred yards of the property line,"  _ he said.  _

_ Everyone in the pack fell silent. Feliks, Isaac, Scott, and Erica, surprisingly, scowled. While Ethan smirked, Jackson exhaled a long, slow sigh and slumped in his seat. As if in thought, Lydia looked from Jackson to whatever device they were using. Cora and Peter shared a nod. Boyd was still and silent, as per usual. Malia was silent, but she wasn't still; she seemed to be looking at each feed in detail, as if trying to discern why everyone was reacting in the way they did.  _

_ Those who seemed bothered the most by Derek's statement started to protest. In the cacophony, Allison couldn't really hear their arguments; they seemed to be similar, arguing about what Derek could and couldn't do as their alpha. It was normal, for them—especially for Scott, who was always arguing with Derek.  _

"You can all visit her, I won't stop you, but I refuse to have her on my property after what they chose to do,"  _ Derek explained, after raising his hands to call for (something close to) silence.  _ "Her father isn't all that welcome, either, but there were no grounds to make that order stick." 

_ "We have a treaty," Chris reminded him.  _

_ Derek's eyes flashed red, but he remained silent.  _

"With friends like these, who needs enemies?" _ Peter asked.  _ "Come on, Derek. Let's go run."

_ Allison watched Peter usher Derek out of view of the camera. She watched Cora look from the camera lens to her family, and then she, too, was getting up and walking away. The screen went black before it disappeared from view; the other panels reorganised themselves.  _

_ The Hales' departure started a chain. Jackson walked away from Lydia, taking Ethan with him and leaving the rectangular glimpse into Lydia's new life. Malia, too, turned off the camera; Allison didn't take offense, because she and Malia hadn't known each other before Allison's so-called death.  _

_ Boyd looked into the camera—not just at Allison's image—and gave her a sad smile.  _

"I'm glad you didn't die," _ he said.  _ "I better get back to work. Hopefully we'll be able to let everyone know soon." 

_ And then, he, too, walked away, leaving Erica alone in front of their camera.  _

"When can you come and visit?" _ Isaac asked.  _

_ Allison frowned. "I don't know yet. I'm… sort of in school right now. Maybe for the holidays."  _

"Great! You can come to the house and—" 

_ Interrupting Scott's exclamation, Chris said, "I haven't told Melissa yet, Scott. Allison doesn't want to tell the Sheriff until Stiles knows, and I can't put Melissa in a position where she will have to lie to him. They've been friends since you and Stiles were kids. Before that." _

"She won't care about that," _ Scott insisted.  _ "She's kept werewolf business from the Sheriff before." 

_"This is different, Scott,"_ _Allison said._

_ "I still have the condo in town," Chris added. "Maybe, if Allison can come for a visit, we'll meet up there, all right?"  _

_ Scott's smile brightened.  _ "Yeah, okay! God, this is awesome. I… I'm so glad you're alive, Allison. I never thought you could… but I don't like living in a world you're not in,"  _ he admitted, his cheeks turning pink.  _

_ Allison felt her own cheeks flushing at his admission. Their relationship ran its course, and Allison was sure they'd never rekindle it; but, he was her first love and there were residual feelings associated with that. There would always be a soft spot in her heart for Scott McCall.  _

_ She saw Lydia roll her eyes and she smiled in response.  _

"Are you okay?"  _ Isaac asked.  _ "I mean… any health problems or nightmares? Or anything bad?" 

_ "Nothing too bad," Allison admitted. "I mean, there's no lasting damage or anything. Sometimes I have a bad dream, but it's fine. I'm working on it."  _

"Maybe… maybe you shouldn't see Stiles, then," _ he said.  _ "To not make that worse, I mean." 

_ At Isaac's suggestion, Allison almost laughed. She recognised the worry in his round, wide eyes, though, so she managed to restrain herself.  _

_ "It wasn't Stiles who stabbed me," she said. "I'm not worried about seeing him."  _

_ When Issac's brows furrowed, she added, "Isaac, I'm not afraid of Stiles. It wasn't him who hurt me. He needs to know—"  _

"Does he?" _ Scott asked.  _ "This could bring up a lot of issues, and he's been doing better away from pack stuff, right? The Sheriff says he's doing good. So… maybe he should just… keep thinking the world's the same." __

_ Feliks shrugged and nodded.  _ "It might be easier,"  _ he said.  _

_ "We'll think about it, for now," Chris said, before Allison could protest. "If Allison's going to return to Beacon Hills, everyone will have to be informed, but… for now, she's not returning, so there's no need to worry too much about it."  _

_ As he finished speaking, Allison turned and glared at him. She thought he understood her perspective; she thought he was  _ finally _ going to do the right thing. But, he was just as reticent as the pack, and she didn't understand that—from any of them. Stiles was one of them! If anything, Stiles deserved to know she was still alive more than the rest of them did.  _

_ Chris either couldn't feel her staring in his direction or he was choosing to ignore her. He navigated the remaining group's conversation through the first months of university and college, and Allison struggled to keep up with all the details.  _

_ Her mind was focused on one thing: how to find Stiles so she could tell him the truth.  _

#####

Clary wouldn't talk to her; Margo and Magnus were unwilling to help. It's time to move onto the next group from her father's list. 

In a long, flowing skirt and a light t-shirt, Allison feels like she's as far as she can be from the image any of them might have seen in the footage from the deputies' van. Normally, she wouldn't care about her appearance, but since she is heading towards the group of investigators from Excelsior, she feels like it's important that she looks nothing like the huntress she's become over the last few years. She wants to look benign; she doesn't want the investigators to connect her to a murder they're probably still investigating. 

While Allison trusts that Sam would come for her, she would like to prevent that from being necessary. 

They're sitting on the patio, so she doesn't need to explain herself to the restaurant's hostess. She takes the two steps onto the wooden platform and slowly makes her way towards them. 

"Excuse me?" she says. "Agents?" 

As the whole party turns to look at her, Wilder Blanks removes his arm from a beautiful woman's shoulders; he leans forward and tilts his head. 

"What can I do for you?" Wilder asks. "Miz…" 

"Valet," Allison quickly supplies. "Christina Valet. I… well. I'm trying to find someone who can put me in touch with Jimmy Travers." 

Most of the table's occupants show their surprise with open mouths or raised eyebrows. Wilder, though, remains quiet and calm. Nothing remotely like surprise shows on his face. 

"How do you think we could do that?" he asks. 

"I know he was in Beacon Hills. And I know you and some of your team were in Beacon Hills," Allison admits. "I… I need to talk to him. It's important." 

Wilder narrows his eyes. "Are you… affiliated with his assailants?" 

"Only in the way that he was, when we were teenagers," she says, trying to be as honest as possible without telling the agents everything about Beacon Hills. Chris and Mary suspect these people are  _ in the know, _ but she can't risk exposing anyone to the supernatural if they aren't already exposed to it. "I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't until I see him. I was forcibly removed from our circle of friends—" 

The woman Allison is ninety percent certain is Mira Barkley snorts loudly from her position opposite Wilder. He glances at her, across the table, before returning his focus to Allison. 

"—before he left, and when I came back, after a couple years, I didn't know he'd broken all ties with them," she continues. "He needs the truth first, from me. It has to come from me." 

The woman at Wilder's side asks, "What truth?" 

Allison arches an eyebrow. "Jimmy needs to hear it first. It's important. I wouldn't be here if it isn't." 

"Look, huntress, you might think we're idiots, I have no idea, but if you think we're going to roll over on someone under our protection—after what  _ that _ pack put him through, then and now—you're delusional," Liam Butterfield, she guesses (based on Chris' descriptions), says. 

The way he talks about the werewolves from Beacon Hills, just like Magnus did the previous night, makes Allison's insides squirm. 

When the other agents turn and glare at him, he shrugs and says, "What? You can all smell the anti-possession tattoo on her somewhere. And I can see Clary's handiwork on her arm. Calluses on her fingers. She's in the know and she uses a bow and arrow—she's a hunter. It remains to be seen if she's smart." 

"I am a hunter, but my family motto is  _ nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes,"  _ she says. "And my personal mandate is to protect the supernatural from the mundane." 

Mira tilts her head as she looks at Allison. After a nod, she pulls a few dollar bills out of her purse and puts them on the table. 

"I can't be here for this—I won't be a party to this," she says. "Wilder, can you box—" 

"Consider it done. I'll see you at the office," Wilder interrupts. 

Mira stands and glares at Allison. "How could you?" she hisses. 

"It wasn't my choice," Allison says, assuming Mira knows the updated Argent motto and something of who she really is. "I have been trying for years to find him and to try to make it right." 

A nearly-hysterical, but brief, laugh escapes Mira's lips as she shakes her head and walks away from them all. 

"We're all very protective of Mister Travers," Wilder says, studying her carefully. "Especially after the events that occurred in Beacon Hills. Some hunters were not very kind to him—" 

Liam mutters, "That's putting it mildly." 

"I think it's best if you leave us," the other man, whose name Allison doesn't know, says. "We'll discuss it with our family." 

"Can I leave my number with you? In case—" 

Wilder shakes his head and extends a business card to her. "Take this," he says, cutting off her request's explanation. "In three days, call. I may or may not answer, but you'll have your response either way." 

She hates that she might have to wait, but everyone else, so far, had either completely shut down or evicted her from whatever space she'd entered. She knows she is running out of options; these agents might be her best (and last) chance. So, she plucks the card from between Wilder's fingers and nods. 

"Thank you for your time," she says before she walks away from the magic users. 


	7. Chapter 7

_ The body—it was only a body, or else she wouldn't be able to finish her job—was in the shadows. If she kept her eyes closed, she wouldn't be able to see him. Or,  _ it. __

_ Except… with the initial job done, she needed to start cleaning up the mess she made.  _

_ At three o'clock in the morning, there were few chances of being discovered in the decrepit barn, but she knew she had to leave before the sun rose. She couldn't let her vehicle be seen on or leaving the Miller property; it wasn't close to anything else that could explain her presence in the area, and she needed his death to look like an accident.  _

_ She found the journals, photographs, and trophies. She cleared the wolfsbane, mountain ash, and kanima venom from his kit. There was no sign of the supernatural; she needed to erase the hunter, too, to make the world safer.  _ _ She stopped the hunter who paralysed young, female lycanthropes, before raping and killing them. With those steps done, she needed to finish the job to ensure he would never return to his work.  _

_ As she worked on setting the stage, she reminded herself of the facts. Joe Miller, Jr could no longer torture innocent girls. She'd hated the idea of killing a human; but she knew he'd never stop. The moment she'd met him, she'd recognised that he was evil, through and through. There was a gleam of mad cruelty in his eyes that she recognised and knew could not be extinguished. There would have been no reasoning with him.  _

_ Mary had been right. Allison had hoped she could avoid an execution, but as soon as she looked into Miller's eyes, she'd known there would be no reasoning with him—with or without mundane law. Miller would not stop; he muttered about doing God's work and he considered those girls animals.  _

_ He was a sorry excuse for a hunter and a man.  _

_ Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Assuming it was Mary, she was surprised to see Feliks' name and number on the screen.  _

_ "Feliks?"  _

"Allison, hey,"  _ he replied.  _ "Do you have a minute?" 

_ She looked over to the body, briefly, before moving towards the gear she'd moved into the barn. "Yeah, a couple," she said. "What's up?" _

_ After a sigh, Feliks said,  _ "It's Stiles. I want your help." 

_ "Is he okay?" _

"I have no idea. Tonight, Dad said he dropped out of school,"  _ Feliks explained.  _ "He wouldn't say more than that, and I… I'm curious." 

_ Allison frowned. She'd been planning to go to Philadelphia so she could look for him, once she was finished in Ohio, but if he wasn't there any longer, she didn't know where to start her search.  _

_ "That's… surprising," Allison said. "That he left school."  _

"Maybe he couldn't hack it," _ Feliks commented. _

_ "That doesn't sound like Stiles. He's stronger than that. And super smart. A tough course load should be no problem for him," she said. "Did something happen, do you think?"  _

"Dad didn't seem upset," _ Feliks replied.  _

_ Allison sighed and looked down at her feet. If she could finish her job cleanly, she could get the evidence back to the bunker; then, Mary and the others could inform the victims' families and packs, and Allison could head straight to Pennsylvania to check for any trace of Stiles. If she were lucky, maybe she'd find a trail to follow.  _

_ "I'll try to look for him," she offered. "I won't be out that way for a little while, but maybe I'll be able to find out where he went."  _

"Yeah, okay. Thank you,"  _ Feliks said.  _

_ "He's gonna be fine, don't worry," Allison reminded him. "Stiles is smart and skilled. Whatever he's doing, I'm sure there's a reason for it."  _

_ Feliks snorted.  _ "I'm sure there is, too, and I want to know what that reason is,"  _ he said.  _

_ "Well… I'll try to figure it out and I'll get back to you," she assured him. "I'll call you when I know something, okay?"  _

"Okay,"  _ Feliks agreed.  _ "Thanks."

_ "I've, uh, got some studying to do… late night cram session," she said. "I'll talk to you later?" _

_ Feliks ended the call amicably, allowing Allison to pocket the device and look around the barn. There was enough heavy machinery, rusted from disuse, that she knew she could rig something to resemble an accident. Miller was still stunned; his body was still paralysed. All she had to do was drag him into position, drop the machinery on him, and try not to vomit in the process.  _

_ Allison sucked in a sharp breath and went to work. She was an  _ Argent. _ She would not be sick. She would get the job done.  _

#####

"Clary—"

Before Allison can defend or explain why she's so determined to find Jimmy Travers, Clary pushes a red button on the wall behind the counter. 

"I thought you understood I will not discuss him with strangers," Clary hisses. "Why won't you leave us—and him—alone?"

"What's going on here?" 

Allison turns to see a tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway to the private rooms. She recognises him as Alec Lightwood, from his social media pictures, but he's not smiling the same way he does in those images. He looks furious; he looks strong. Allison feels the impulse to take a step back from both of them, and she steels herself against that impulse. 

"This is the person we all told you about!" Clary exclaims. "She keeps showing up here, Pandemonium, wherever Wilder and Jeff and everyone have lunch—" 

Alec nods and frowns. "The Argent hunter," he says, nodding again. He looks at Allison. "What do you want with Jimmy?" 

"I'm not here on behalf of the Argent family. In fact, I'm pretty sure Chris wishes I'd drop it and move on," Allison says. "But, I can't. There are things Jimmy needs to know. About me, and about events that occurred when we were teenagers. And it has to come from me. It's my father's fault he doesn't know, but I'm going to fix it. 

"I've been trying to get in touch with him for years, and this is the closest I've ever gotten," she continues. "I got most of your names from the Hale pack, and that's how I ended up here. And at Pandemonium. I called the CBI and found the others at lunch. But, I can't find Jimmy. No one will help me." 

"Do you really think we'd all help after everything you, I'm assuming, and your friends have done to him?" Alec asks. 

"I know what I did, and I know some of what they did," Allison says. "I can explain how they're not really related, but also sort of—" 

"I think it's time for you to leave," Alec interrupts. "Unlike your friends, we take care of the people in our family. All of them. And you are not welcome here." 

He raises his hand and a blue glow emanates from its palm. Soon after, the blue glow is around her, holding her in position and also moving her towards the exit. 

Since she has nothing left to lose, on her last attempt at getting someone to help her find Stiles, she starts talking about what happened. 

She makes it to  _ "and Dad was afraid the nogitsune would come back so he kept me a secret from everyone for a couple years" _ and she stops moving. Alec doesn't lower his hand, but he is looking at Allison through wide eyes. 

"Alec?" Clary asks. 

"I need the whole story, now," Alec says as he ends the spell. "We're going back to my office. Clary, can you call Caolán? When he gets here, send him back. Please?" 

Clary nods. 

Alec opens the door to the hallway and nods at Allison. "You have my attention now, Miz Argent," he says. "I'll give you a chance to explain everything to me, and then to Caolán. We're probably your best chance at getting to right this wrong—but it could all end in disaster, too, so be sure it's what you want to do." 

#####

_ When Allison stopped in front of them, Lydia and Feliks each gave her a hug. She closed her eyes and smiled; they'd talked over video chat, but it wasn't the same as being in person. She missed them all so much and nothing could compete with a real, in-person embrace.  _

_ She'd started to hug Jackson, too, but his raised hands stopped her from getting too close.  _

_ "I'm glad you're not dead," he said. "I don't think I said that before. But, this is a shitty thing you're all doing, and I'm not going to be a part of it any more than I absolutely have to be."  _

_ "Jackson—"  _

_ He turned and glared at Feliks. "Don't. We're pack… and you're one of my oldest friends, but we disagree on this," he said, cutting off whatever Feliks was going to say.  _

_ Allison watched him stomp off, as did Lydia and Feliks.  _

_ "I know this is fucked up," Allison said, quietly. "I can't find him. I… I'm trying."  _

_ "He left," Feliks said in response, shrugging. "He talks to Dad. But… he left."  _

_ Lydia put her hand on Feliks' shoulder and squeezed gently. It was a gesture between friends—and they'd been friends for a long time, since long before Allison ever even heard of Beacon Hills—but something about the way they leaned into each other made Allison take note of their interaction.  _

_ They made sense. Lydia was drawn to headstrong men, and she found challenges in their mercurial moods and drives. Allison wondered if it were something about trying to control power, but she also knew that Lydia was more mentally powerful than all of them. She had a brain that could conquer the world—if she were so inclined.  _

_ It also explained why Lydia stayed by Feliks' side when Jackson walked away. Jackson and Lydia had become friends, after his visit during Gerard's last attempt at annihilation, and Lydia not taking Jackson's side had seemed odd to Allison. But, if she were interested romantically in Feliks, that could explain Lydia's actions.  _

_ "It seems odd, that he'd just… leave school," Lydia remarked. "And how is he staying hidden? That the Sheriff can't even find him?"  _

_ Allison wondered about that, before, and figured that if Stiles was staying in contact with the Sheriff, he probably had no reason to track his phone. But, then, she'd asked Charlie to try to locate Stiles, with her hacking skills, and Charlie hadn't been able to find him. It was curious. It might even be suspicious. Allison wasn't sure what to think about Stiles' ability to stay hidden.  _

_ He might have had help—from law enforcement, for example—if he were in real trouble.  _

_ "I'll keep at it," Allison offered. "Eventually, I'll find him. I need to."  _

_ Feliks shrugged again. "Maybe he can't be found because he's in prison," he said, chuckling a little under his breath. "Would be a surprise."  _

_ "That would be… quite a shock," Allison agreed.  _

_ Lydia snorted. "Please. He's not incarcerated. He's too concerned with doing good for that to happen," she said. "I think he's just… travelling. Realising he needs a gap year after everything. Nothing to worry about. You're both such drama queens."  _

_ With that, she walked off, towards the smoothie stand on the other side of the quad. Allison watched her walk for a few seconds, before she, too, took off in the same direction. Not wanting to be left out, Feliks jogged past Allison and caught up to Lydia; he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and Lydia leaned into him slightly.  _

_ Allison smiled. They were definitely on their way to becoming closer.  _


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't want to be a part of this," Caolán says as soon as Alec and Allison explain the situation to him. 

Alec sighs. "Neither do I. Margo and Morgana made it sound like Argent was coming after him again, or like the pack was trying to deliver some sort of parting shot. But this? It's huge. We have to tell him. I'm not going to lie to him like the pack has been," he says. 

"Jimmy is my best friend," Caolán says as he brings his hand up so his fingers can rub the bridge of his nose. "I cannot be involved in some sort of conspiracy. I cannot hurt him intentionally—oh, fuck—this is going to crush him." 

Allison wants to assure him that she's not asking for some sort of cover-up or an intentional blow to Stiles' emotional state, but she knows that revealing the truth to Stiles is going to initially hurt him. Mentioning that giving Stiles the truth will eventually help him doesn't seem like a good idea, either, judging by how fraught Caolán appears to be. 

"When is he coming back?" Caolán asks, finally, after a lot of muttering under his breath. 

Sighing again, Alec pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks something on the screen. He says, "He should be home tonight." 

Allison really wants to know where he is—is he working again, so soon?—but she continues to remain silent. 

Caolán nods. "All right… all right. Miz Argent, you can come to my place, this evening, by six o'clock. I'll give you the address before we leave here. You should bring your things in case Jimmy wants you escorted from town," he says. Allison gasps and tries to protest, but he has moved on from her. He looks at Alec. "Can you talk to Magnus? Or do you want me to—" 

"Yeah… I better handle that," Alec says. "I'll need to sit Magnus down and explain some of it to him. I suspect she's the one who set off him and Margo the other night." 

At that, Allison cringes and nods. "Sorry, I was just… I've been trying to find him for so long, and I finally got a clue—" 

As he interrupts her, Caolán raises a hand. "I get it. But, you should look at this from our side. We love him. He's a great person and a wonderful friend. He's been mistreated by everyone in Beacon Hills. And you show up, after years of almost everyone letting him think he killed you—even though he absolutely did not—and expect us to be helpful if not outright thrilled?" he says. "He's going to be devastated. Any progress he made with Alpha Hale, his sister, and then Jimmy's own father… it doesn't mean anything anymore. Quite frankly, I don't want you anywhere near him. I don't care how long you've been looking for him. It's too little too late. If you thought he was ever a friend, you should have fought for him—or at least found a faster way to inform him of the truth." 

Caolán's words sting. He doesn't know that Stiles is the reason Allison is still alive; he doesn't know that Allison has been trying to correct the pack's way of thinking. She shores up her spirit, stiffens her spine, and makes herself meet his gaze. 

"I tried!" Allison exclaims. "Dad kept me separate from the pack until they went to college! He moved me to the middle of Kansas! He was—is—scared of me getting killed again, and I knew he'd need time before he realised my life is always going to be intertwined with the pack and with the supernatural." 

Arching an eyebrow, Caolán says, "And you didn't have a phone? You didn't have access to a computer? While Jimmy was struggling—both with the pack and with his grief—you were locked away in a technology-free prison, were you? Before you rejoined that terrible excuse for a pack, and before Jimmy fell off the grid, you didn't consider ensuring  _ everyone _ could be told, did you?

"No. You stayed in your cushy… boarding school, I'm guessing. You got to make new friends and talk to your dad and then you got your old friends back, but you made choices that continued to keep Jimmy from the truth that could help him heal. You made choices that put another wall between him and his family. And no one thought about him and what your continued existence would mean for him. Yes, that looks a lot like trying to repair things between you and Jimmy." 

"The Sheriff doesn't know," Allison says. "And Derek… when he found out, he had a restraining order filed against my alias. I'm not allowed on Hale property." 

"Oh, woe is you," Caolán comments. 

Allison scowled. "That's not what this is about!" she exclaims. "When he left for school, he cut all ties. I tried to find him! He dropped out of school and off every radar I could think of! He didn't want to be found—but I kept trying!" 

Caolán opens his mouth, but Alec steps between them. With his back to Allison, she can't see what expression is on his face; she can hear the softness over steel in his voice, though. 

"He has anti-tracking runes all over him," Alec says quietly. "He never wanted to be found." 

"He never wanted to be  _ hurt," _ Caolán says in response. "With her father watching him, one hand on his weapon, and the pack, at best, ignoring him, and, at worst, actively hurting him, and his brother… ugh. What was he supposed to do? Stay in one place and make it easy for them?" 

"Caolán, I know. I'm on Jimmy's side, too," Alec murmurs. 

Caolán growls wordlessly before speaking again, sounding much more like a werewolf than a human. "I hate this! Why didn't Cora say anything?! They think he is so—" 

Allison takes a step back as Alec moves forward and pulls Caolán into a hug. 

"We know better," Alec says, his voice still quiet. "And we are going to support him in this—his actions, his decisions. And he can't make those decisions unless he knows everything.  _ This  _ Argent is a part of that."

She wants to flinch, but she doesn't. She knows she deserves that tone in Alec's voice over her family name. 

Instead, she focuses on the mention of Feliks. 

"What did you mean… about Feliks?" she asks, hoping her own tone tells them she's feeling contrite and genuinely concerned. 

"He's a terrible human being," Alec says, not turning around. 

Caolán adds, "Even before he became a werewolf." 

Allison frowns. "So, there is more than… just sibling stuff?" she asks. 

Alec snorts and looks at her from over his shoulder. As he turns, he says, "Yeah, a lot more." 

Thinking over everything she'd gleaned from the pack and her father, Allison wonders what  _ exactly _ is the truth. She wonders if she ever knew any of the truths about events in Beacon Hills. She knows her feelings are real—and are her own—but is there more happening than what she observed? 

No. 

Maybe? 

She reaches out blindly until she finds a wall and then she leans back against it. Her knees bend and she slumps down to the floor. 

She trusts Lydia; Lydia seems to be putting similar puzzles together. There's comfort and surety in the fact that they are coming to conclusions that appear the same. And she knows that Peter's truth about the lack of bonds within the pack plays a role in what has been happening. The betas are feeding off each other; negative thoughts build more negative thoughts. But, she hadn't always been aware of their behaviour. She knows some of it because she's seen it, since her return, and contrasted it with her past memories. But, she wonders if she missed a lot of it. How much of her perspective of her years as a teenager in Beacon Hills had been warped by the betas' beliefs and actions? How much have the betas been hiding from her? 

Is she more guilty of hurting Stiles than she thought she knew? 

"I need to know everything," she whispers. 

"Well, you're not getting it from us," Alec says. "If Jimmy will see you tonight, maybe he'll share some of it with you." 

Allison blinks and looks up into his face. "I need to fix this," she says.

"You didn't make them push him out." 

With another frown, she shakes her head. "No, but I didn't help. I… I owe him. So much. You have no idea," she insists. 

"I have a small idea. I see some residual… marks. I recognise his magic, too," Caolán says as he studies her. "You were very near death. Made it all the way to the in-between. Who did you see?"

Allison stares at him. "How—" 

"It leaves a mark on one's aura." 

"Stiles pulled me out. I don't think he knows," Allison whispers. She feels her eyes filling up with tears as she thinks about that warm light and her mother and Claudia Stilinski; she wipes at her face. "I didn't know until later. I thought it was a dream, or—and then I found out the woman there was his mother. She told me to let go or help him. 

"I tried to come back, right away," she continues. "I tried to find him. I don't know how bad—" 

Alec groans and crouches down in front of her. He puts his hands on her knees. "Easy, Argent," he murmurs. "Take a deep breath. We're going to help. For our friend, mainly, but maybe  _ a little _ for you, too." 

She sniffles. "Really?" 

"Can't promise it's going to go over well, with anyone, but we'll try," he says. 

#####

_ When she finally tracked down Stiles' former roommate, Jay Addams, she was able to make contact quickly; Jay had been charitable enough to agree to meet with her the next time she was in Philadelphia. She took a hunt (two wendigos who were actively killing people for some sort of supernatural Sunday brunch) on the way into the city, to keep her skills sharp, and then she headed to the university campus once she covered her tracks.  _

_ Jay was a quiet young man. He greeted her with a wide smile that seemed extra bright in contrast with his dark skin, but he spoke softly and in low tones when they worked their way through greetings.  _

_ Allison introduced herself as Christina Valet, who was (in that case) a private investigator hired by Stiles' friends and family. Jay seemed to accept that.  _

_ "I don't know if I can tell you anything that would be helpful. It's been a while," Jay said when Allison prompted him for information about Stiles' time at school. "We were randomly put together at Hill College House, and it worked, so we kept living together. We'd planned to rent an apartment when we were sick of dorm life. I was closer to that point than Stiles, but I didn't mind waiting."  _

_ "Why?" _

_ Jay shrugged. "He was a good roommate. He was quiet. Sometimes he could be a little chatty, but it was rare," he replied. "And he liked helping me when I cooked. I tried to teach him. Plus… he just cared. He made sure I took my binder off at night. He went to the pharmacy to pick things up for me when I couldn't. He taught me how to protect myself from assholes."  _

_ As Allison processed what Jay said, she tried to keep her reactions off her face. It didn't sound like Stiles at all. Well, accepting someone's gender or orientation did sound like Stiles, but the quiet behaviour and the defense lessons didn't match up with what Allison knew of Stiles.  _

_ "Wait… protection? Like… self-defense?" _

_ "Yeah. Not everything he knew, but how to use a taser… how to break free of someone's grip… basic stuff," Jay said, nodding.  _

_ "How… did he take classes in your first year?"  _

_ Jay frowned. "He said it was his uncle… Peter? Yeah, that sounds right. He said his uncle taught him how to protect himself in some situations. I guess some bad stuff happened in his town after he turned seventeen."  _

_ Allison blinked, not sure how to process that particular piece of information. The idea that  _ Peter Hale,  _ of all people, taught Stiles how to defend himself was something she never would have expected. No one had known—or, at least, she hadn't known.  _

_ "He said he'd been abducted or something?" Jay supplied, apparently reading her silence as confusion.  _

_ Peter had taught Stiles how to protect himself after Gerard hurt him.  _

_ Well,  _ wow.

_ "I… yes, I heard something about that," Allison said. "The guy who did it has been investigated. Turns out he's dead. Long before Stiles left school."  _

_ At that, Jay nodded. "Good."  _

_ "Can you tell me… did he say anything before he left?" Allison asked in an attempt to move past Gerard and Peter.  _

_ Jay drummed his long fingers against the sides of his thighs. "Just that he was sorry that he couldn't stay… something about a seminar at another school in… upstate New York, I think. Maybe an academic that rarely teaches? But, I thought that was weird."  _

_ Tilting her head, Allison asked, "Weird? How so?" _

_ "It was the middle of a semester," Jay replied, his eyebrows raised. "Classes don't usually start then."  _

_ "Oh. Right. That makes sense."  _

_ "I overheard him say something about someone named Winterbourne," Jay added. "And Danvers. But I don't know who they are. School personnel probably."  _

_ Allison nodded. "Probably," she agreed, although she wasn't sure. "Did he leave anything behind?"  _

_ "Some toiletries. A lot of clothes. And all his school books," Jay told her. "He told me to sell his books and keep the money. I kept some of his clothes. Donated the rest."  _

_ "Personal effects?" Allison asked.  _

_ "Aside from his phone and laptop, he didn't have much. He only had a small photo album and that went with him. But, I know he called his dad and told him everything. They talked every day for a couple weeks about whatever Stiles was planning on doing," Jay said.  _

_ For the first time since they met, Jay's eyes narrowed in what Allison assumed was suspicion.  _

_ She smiled. "I'm just trying to make sure everyone's accounts line up," she said.  _

_ Jay nodded, but he didn't entirely relax. "All right, well… if you do find him, can you ask him to give me a call? My number's still the same, if he has it, or maybe you can give it to him if he doesn't?" _

_ Allison's second smile felt a lot more genuine as she nodded and promised she'd pass on the message. Jay relaxed at that, and Allison felt relief when she saw his shoulders sag a bit. The last thing she wanted to do was make Jay worry enough to contact the authorities.  _

#####

"No, Magnus, you stay there," Alec says into the phone at his ear. "If Stiles needs to go home, I want him to find you. He shouldn't be alone right now. I asked everyone else to stay at home or go to his favourite haunts, just in case. 

"I'll protect him—you know I will." 

Allison shifts her weight. She doesn't think Alec believes she is intending to hurt him physically; she thinks Alec is only saying that to convince Magnus to stay at home and not antagonise what will surely be an emotionally fraught meeting. But, his words still sting and remind her that Stiles has a family completely separate from Beacon Hills. 

"Yeah, I love you, too," Alec says, pulling Allison from her worries for a brief moment. He ends the call and pockets his phone. "Magnus says 'hi.'"

After a snort, Allison asks, "Really?

"Well. It was more like 'tell the hunter I will figure out how to send her to the edge of the universe if she does anything I don't like,' but yeah. That's 'hi' in Magnus-speak in a situation like this." 

Allison laughs nervously. Alec smirks. 

"How long have you two been together?" Allison asks. 

"Not long enough," Alec says, shrugging as his smirk fades. "But, we're working on making it forever." 

Caolán comes into the room. "I certainly hope you two work it out," he says. He holds up his phone. "He's almost here. Just parked." 

Allison's nerves cranked up a notch, sending her insides fluttering. 

"I'll meet him at the door," Caolán says. "I'll try to prepare him, although there's no easy greeting card platitude for this sort of situation." 

"Caolán—"

"And then I'll bring him in here and hope he doesn't freak the fuck out!" 

Alec steps across the room and puts his hands on Caolán's shoulders. 

"Take a deep breath," Alec murmurs. "It might get worse before it gets better—but it is going to get better." 

"Promise?"

"The truth. He needs the truth—the whole thing," Alec says. "We don't know why the pack didn't tell him. But, I'm sure we'll find out. And from here to there, we'll support him. Whatever he chooses to do. We all have his back." 

Caolán nods. "Yes… yeah. You're right. I just—"

When he stops talking and waves his hands around, Alec asks, "Did you call her?"

"I sent her a text. I'm too mad to talk to her." 

"Did she reply?" Alec asks. 

Caolán shrugs. "She tried calling. But, I didn't answer and then I blocked her number," he says. 

"Call her back tomorrow," Alec advises. 

After a nod, Caolán slips away from Alec and moves towards the front of his apartment. Allison doesn't know what to say, so she remains silent. She feels like an intruder, instead of an investigator. She feels the weight of her choices—and those of her father—and she doesn't like the way that burden makes her insides sink. 

Stiles knocks once and opens the door, calling out for Caolán as he enters the foyer. Allison gasps at the sound of his voice; it's been too long since she's heard him talk. 

"Dude! You won't believe what Jedda tried to tea—oh, hey. You the welcoming committee?"

"Something like that," Caolán says. "We've had an interesting week while you've been away. And someone's here to see you."

"Dad? Derek?"

"Someone female," Caolán stipulates. "It's a bit of a serious situation, and we weren't sure what to do with her, but—"

"Cora?"

"But, you need to know the truth," Caolán says, talking past Stiles' interruption. "Just keep in mind that it's real, or she's real. You're not alone, and we'll support any decision you make." 

Stiles speaks again, his voice much more subdued. "Caolán, you're freaking me out," he admits. 

"Well, I suppose I am a little freaked out, myself," Caolán says. "Alec's here, too. Trying to be the voice of calm rationale." 

"Is this why Magnus sent me a text saying he's at the loft if I need him?" 

"Yes," Caolán replies. 

They're coming closer. Allison can hear their voices and footsteps growing clearer and louder. She braces herself on the sofa; she grips the cushion underneath her with both hands. 

When Stiles steps into the living room, Allison is taken aback by how  _ different _ Stiles looks. Like Feliks, he grew into his body over the years; his frame is broader, because of his age and because of the added muscle that he'd developed. Unlike Feliks, his hair is loose and shaggy, longer than he'd ever kept it when she'd known him. His skin is covered in tattoos, too; she can see designs peeking around the edges of his shirts and jacket, and she wonders how much work Alec and Clary have added to his arsenal. 

Stiles is still Stiles, but he is also Jimmy Travers. She can see the similarity and difference in every inch of him. 

"Stiles," she says, her voice surprisingly breathless. 

His eyes widen as he studies her. Then, they narrow. 

"What are—"

Alec steps forward and interjects. "She's not a skinwalker or demon," he says, his palms raised. "She's not a witch or a hallucination." 

"Then…" 

"I never died—came close, but never went into the light completely, I guess," Allison says. "Dad basically had me in witness protection for two years. I tried to find you, after that, but you were gone, and no one knew—"

"Fuck you," Stiles growls. 

With that uttered oath, he takes a step back into the darkness of the hallway. 

"Stiles—"

Allison stops talking when she realises Stiles has  _ vanished. _

Looking from Allison to Caolán to the doorway, Alec hums thoughtfully. 

Caolán nods. "Guess we know what Jedda was trying to teach him," he comments. 

"Shadow travel," Alec says, smiling a little. "Margo will be jealous. Hell, I'm a little jealous." 

"Me, too," Caolán agrees. 

Allison looks at both of them, unsure of what she should say. Stiles had been  _ right there _ and the whole story had been ready to share. Now, it feels like she'll never be able to right things for Stiles and for the pack. She tastes failure's bitter flavour on the back of her tongue; she wants to fight someone or something and work out her disappointment. 

But, it doesn't seem as if that will be an option. 

Caolán looks at her. "That was better than I expected," he says. "He'll be back. How about you bring your things in from your vehicle? You can stay in my guest room for now." 

"Are you sure?" Allison asks.

After a nod, Caolán says, "Yes, I'm sure. That isn't how he dispatches an enemy. And until he's ready to face you, for real, it would be better to keep his home, at least, a safe space." 

"But… you didn't sign on for a guest," Allison says. 

"True, but the others might mess with you for payback on Stiles' behalf and I am uninterested in dealing with you in that way right now," he tells her. 

Allison nods. "Then... I accept your offer. Thank you." 

"I will be very glad when there is no more Beacon Hills drama," Caolán mutters as he walks out into the hall and out of Allison's sight. 

Alec flops down on the sofa next to Allison. "Agreed," he says with a sigh.


	9. Chapter 9

_ Training with the hunters was great, but Allison's favourite part of living at the bunker was when she could sit up with Mary, Jody, and Donna and listen to them talk and share stories. It was how she'd imagined spending her time as an Argent, in skill and experience, in addition to in name; it was how she'd imagined her mother taking her under her wing, before Victoria showed her true colours and, subsequently, took her life.  _

_ These women weren't her mother, but they were her mentors, and Allison loved to be included when they decided to relax and talk.  _

_ "How did it go?" Mary asked, pulling Allison from her thoughts.  _

_ Jody smiled and shrugged as she approached the table. After putting four bottles of beer on the metal table, she slipped out of her uniform jacket and slumped into a chair.  _

_ "Fine. Didn't have to do much, in the end," she replied. She brushed a hand through her short dark hair and sighed. "That Travers guy showed up before I could even radio Donna for backup."  _

_ Jody was a Sheriff somewhere in South Dakota. She was a few hours away, but she always managed to come to Lebanon for a visit every few weeks. The bunker was her second home; her adopted daughters had lived with her for years, and then the bunker became their second home, too, although more permanently than in Jody's case. They were all family, spread out when they had to be and together when they could be.  _

_ "Not complaining about that," Donna said as she settled down between Jody and Allison. "Wasn't looking forward to another wendigo attack. They're gnarly."  _

_ Mary frowned as she reached across the table for one of the beer bottles. "They're getting rowdy… increasing in numbers," she said. "I talked to Jeremy and Garth, but they're in the dark."  _

_ "Not unusual," Jody remarked. "Wendigos never really hang out with werewolves. Fundamental differences of nature."  _

_ After a nod of agreement, Mary fell silent. It was worrying, but they couldn't plan without good intelligence. For all they knew, mating habits of wendigos could be cyclical. They would have to roll with the punches—or bites—until they learned more.  _

_ Allison leaned forward. "Travers was okay, after, right?" she asked.  _

_ "Yeah, he was fine," Jody replied. "Didn't get a good look at him, but he was moving and breathing—and talking. Christ, he's got a mouth that works when he wants to distract you."  _

_ Donna laughed. "Right? All stone cold silence until he needs you to look the other way. I never see it coming," she said, good humour in her voice.  _

_ "You've met him before?" Allison asked.  _

_ "Three times? No, four," Donna told her. "I think he was based somewhere in Minnesota for a while."  _

_ Allison nodded. She liked Donna. Her sunshine-bright mood lightened the atmosphere on bad days; her bravery and determination gave Allison strength on really bad days. On good days, she was fun. She felt like a good aunt, in Allison's heart, and she hoped they'd be friends for a long time.  _

_ "Learning from Toby, most likely," Mary commented.  _

_ "Toby?" Allison echoed.  _

_ "Magic user, big time hermit," Jody said. "Hides in the woods. He helps with pack disputes sometimes. Rumour has it he used to be an emissary."  _

_ "Used to be?" _

_ Mary reached out and put her hand on Allison's arm. "He was. Until the Argents blew through their community. This was… twenty years ago? Maybe? He tried to save his pack, but got shot and burned for his efforts," she explained, squeezing her hand when Allison's jaw dropped. "He's pretty scarred, physically and emotionally, but he helps when he can. Trains magic users to be emissaries, usually. Helps with diplomatic issues if no one else is available. Good guy, getting older now… he likes his privacy."  _

_ "Oh god," Allison breathed, thinking about Kate and Gerard (and wondering if her father had been with them).  _

_ "So, Jimmy's gonna be an emissary?" Donna asked. "Kid's gonna have his pick of packs. The old ways are dying out. Garth said they've been looking for years for someone."  _

_ "I don't think he's one to tie himself down," Jody said.  _

_ Mary nodded. "Maybe… maybe not. I keep hoping to run into him, see if he'd like to join the team," she admitted. "Could be a good arrangement."  _

_ Allison found herself nodding, too. She didn't have an inkling of magical energy inside of her, but she'd love to learn from someone who had a better understanding of packs and werewolf diplomacy. It could help when she finally returned to Beacon Hills; it might help Derek forgive her, if she could be useful (in more than one way) to the pack.  _

_ She wondered if she could find Jimmy Travers on her own and ask him to take her on, as a partner.  _

#####

As soon as Allison finishes explaining her history and how it connects to Stiles, Magnus sighs and sits down next to Alec. 

"This is a clusterfuck," he declares. "I wish I'd gone with my instincts when we were there." 

Alec snorts and puts his arm around Magnus' shoulders. 

"What would you have done?" Caolán asks. 

"Block those bitten mongrels from their wolves, punch that smug, self-righteous hunter in his scruffy face, and—"

"Hang on," Allison interrupts. "Dad isn't—"

"The one who followed Stiles for weeks, prepared to kill him if he stepped out of line? No, of course not," Magnus drawled. " How about the one who—with all his  _ expert _ knowledge, as he liked to tell us—might have seen that that veterinarian had been manipulating everyone? Or, how about the one who contributed to the destruction of peace in that blood-drenched town?"

In defense of her father, Allison jumps to her feet. "He is only one man! And he helps!" she exclaims. "I may not agree with all of his methods, but I know he's been trying to make things right!" 

Magnus moves smoothly, as if he's made of something more fluid than muscle and bone, as he rises to a standing position. He smirks. 

"How do you make the murder of children right?" he asks. "How do you excuse his plotting to kill an innocent and traumatised teenager, along with the many, many other things he's probably done?"

"He was not a part of Kate's plan to wipe out the Hales!" Allison shouted. "He helped Derek—"

"He wasn't? How do you know? He told you? How sweet, you believe him."

"Wait—"

"Furthermore, did he really ever act in the pack's best interests? Did he really  _ help _ Alpha Hale, either as a boy or a man? Or was he there to take advantage of one of the many detrimental situations and control it for his own benefit?" 

Magnus' words make Allison pause. She's sure her father wants to protect Beacon Hills—she knows he has always tried to do good work—but she remembers that day in the warehouse. That wasn't helpful to Derek or to the pack. 

But, he does help protect the community… 

"He joined us in locating our friend, and for that, he has our thanks, but if you think for one minute his motives were purely altruistic? You don't know that man at all." 

Allison scowls at Magnus. "And you do?" she challenges. 

"Hunters aren't that complicated. Some may be more murderous than others, some may claim to protect those who need protecting," he says, "but at the end of the day, you're all selfish bullies who put your cause—often revenge, how noble—above everything else." 

"Magnus…" Alec murmurs. 

"I'm selfish?!" Allison demands. "How on earth—"

"You claim to care about Jimmy, and in the course of your quest, you disregarded all of our warnings and negative responses," Magnus interrupts. "You put Mira, Liam, Alec, and Caolán, among others, in a position where, if they didn't bend to your whims, they would be forced to lie to or hurt someone in our family. Did you care about that?" 

Her mouth is already open to argue, but as Magnus' words settle in her brain, she realises how her actions could be perceived. 

"Is it just because you think your mission is superior to everything and everyone else? Or is it because we're magic users and we can't possibly be worthy of basic consideration because we're not  _ pure human  _ like you?" 

Allison frowns and takes a step back from Magnus. Her heart throbs in her chest. 

"I… I'm sorry," she says. "I've been so focused on finding Stiles and trying to make this right… I didn't really consider…"

"We love him and he needs to know," Caolán says from his seat in an armchair. "That's the only reason we're helping you. If he chooses to have you leave and never return, we will insist that you respect his choice." 

As she turns to look at him, Allison nods. He nods back in response. 

Allison is the only one who startles when Stiles reappears, coming out of the same darkened hallway from where he disappeared. His chest is visibly rising and falling, his eyes and cheeks are reddened, his hands are clenched and one is bloodied—

Casually, Caolán stands, puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder for a brief squeeze, and walks towards the kitchen. He returns with a small ice pack; he puts Stiles in his chair and sets the pack on his hand. 

"Thanks," Stiles mumbles. 

"Who'd you punch?" Alec asks. 

"Scott," he replies. 

Magnus nods. "Good," he says. 

"Told them we're done. Told all of them," Stiles adds. 

Allison sucks in a sharp breath. This isn't what she wants to have happen. She knows there are some issues of trust to resolve, and she knows the relationship between Stiles and the pack is frayed, but—

"Comment from the peanut gallery?" Stiles asks, turning his angry gaze to her. 

"It's not their fault," she says. "It's mine. And my dad's." 

"Well. Them telling me to leave town is definitely their fault. Scott giving my hair to Deaton for non-consensual spellwork is definitely his fault. Everyone lying to me, no matter what arrangement you made, is everyone's fault," Stiles says as he wriggles a bit and settles into his seat. "Feliks lying to me repeatedly on top of keeping crucial information that could have saved our collective asses several times? Definitely his fault. Me, falling for Cora's and Derek's apologies and Jackson's decent-guy routine… well, I take that blame. I was just feeling hopeful—or plain ol' gullible." 

As Allison tries to figure out what to say, she looks from Caolán to Alec to Magnus. Their faces are blank. They aren't giving her much in terms of clues that could help her proceed. 

"What I don't understand is why, Allison," Stiles says. "We weren't best friends forever, but I thought we were at least on the same side when you—er, by the end. Did you care at all that I was falling apart under all that grief and guilt? Or under the pack's suspicions? I mean, I killed you. That's how some of them saw it. What did you think would happen? That we'd come together and heal?" 

Leaning forward, Allison says, "It was Dad… he was scared—" 

Stiles snorts and arches an eyebrow. "Oh… so that's what that was?"

"Stiles—" 

"What did I ever do to deserve that… or this?" Stiles asks. "It wasn't my choice! I didn't invite that demon fox to possess me. It could have been you. It could have been anyone!" 

"I know! I know, Stiles. I… I wanted to come back right away, but he was scared the nogitsune would come back, too—or that it wasn't really gone. He told me he wanted to make sure Beacon Hills was safe, and that you were safe," Allison explains. "And then, after a few months, I kept asking, but he just kept avoiding. I think it was post-traumatic stress… nearly losing the last of his family.

"When Dad finally relented and brought Derek in, Derek wanted to tell you right away, too! He took a restraining order out on my alias. Even though I can come back to Beacon Hills, I can't go near the pack's territory," she adds. 

Frowning, Stiles asks, "Are you telling me this so I'll forgive him and convince him to have it legally dissolved? Because he saw how torn up I was, and he didn't tell me, so—" 

"He didn't know until… around graduation, I think? Maybe before or after, and it's all tied up in the treaty he signed with Dad," Allison interrupts. 

Stiles turns his head and stares off into space. As she watches him, Allison's phone buzzes in her pocket. She ignores it. No matter who is texting her, their messages will have to wait. She owes Stiles her full attention. 

"That must have been around the time the pack said 'no humans allowed,' when Derek said he had something…" Stiles says before a shake of his head. "I mean, they meant 'no Stiles allowed,' really, but…"

"Stiles… it's not—" 

"If you're here to plead a case for them, that's really not going to work for me," Stiles interrupts, turning his sharp eyes back to her. "I'm not looking to hurt them back… I just want it to stop." 

Allison takes a deep breath and sighs before she says, "I don't think they're doing it on purpose, Stiles." 

"You're going to give me some sort of pack hierarchy defense?" Stiles asks. "You think I haven't thought about that? Derek's emotionally and psychologically damaged, there are no pack bonds, so they're acting out around the lowly human?" 

"Well—" 

"That doesn't explain everything Feliks did to me, because the worst of that was before he was bitten," Stiles says, interrupting again. "And even if… they're not slaves to their instincts. They have free will. They decided it was acceptable to treat me the way they did. They decided to push me out. They—the majority, anyway—decided they don't need to apologise. I've worked with a lot of packs. I know instincts play a part in their behaviour, but that doesn't excuse their shitty actions." 

Allison sighs. "I just… I know I screwed things up by staying gone—" 

"You're one person, Allison," Stiles interrupts. "Don't—" 

"—and I want to make things better." 

Stiles looks away from her. He clenches his jaw. Allison has the distinct impression that something she said bothers Stiles, and she doesn't want to screw up even more than she already has. 

"It has to come from them. And it won't—not in a way that instantly makes up for the pain they caused me," Stiles says after a long pause. He looks down at his hands. "The most I can really hope for is that Derek gets his act together and becomes the alpha he's meant to be. Anything extra is… fantasy. Especially where things are right now." 

He sighs and moves his hand out from under its ice pack. The skin is still red, but the wounds have healed. After clenching and unclenching his fingers, he turns and looks at Allison. 

"So. You're not dead," he says. His smirk is small and almost completely humourless, but Allison thinks it's a start in the right direction. "What have you been up to?" 

"You… want to know?" she asks. 

Stiles nods. "Yeah, definitely. Paint me a picture," he prompts. 

At that, Allison decides the details of her years as Christina Valet can't hurt Stiles more than she already has hurt him by allowing him to think she died, and she leans forward. She tells him that she was recruited by Mary Winchester and she still works with the team based out of Kansas. She describes some of her worst hunts—usually after hunters who were more evil than any supernatural being she'd faced, including Deucalion—and she adds some information about the group of people with whom she lives and works. 

In return, Stiles tells her about some of his adventures. His stories loosen up Magnus, Alec, and Caolán, and then they're all telling stories. Even though Allison is sure it's only a temporary truce, she embraces it and hopes it means progress is on the horizon. 

#####

"The person you have dialed is unavailable. Please record your mess—"

_ Allison sighed and ended the call.  _

_ Sam looked up from the book he was translating. "What's up?" he asked.  _

_ "Someone from home-home doesn't want to talk to me," Allison admitted. She held up her phone. "One ring. I got sent to voicemail."  _

_ With a frown, Sam said, "That could mean they're busy—"  _

_ "He's ignoring me," Allison interjected. "I screwed up. He's definitely ignoring me."  _

_ "Are you… trying to fix it?"  _

_ "I… I don't know if I can, to be honest," she said, frowning down at her phone.  _

_ She'd wanted to call Derek and speak to him about the possibility of her returning to the pack; she'd wanted to start repairing the additional damage the remaining Argents had done to him and to the people of Beacon Hills. Clearly, she'd… underestimated the depth of Derek's hard feelings.  _

_ As she pondered her situation and any future courses of action, Sam stood up and walked around to the table Allison had chosen for her perch. He sat down next to her on the table's surface, his long legs touching the ground when Allison's swung freely in the air without even brushing the floor.  _

_ "You wanna talk about it?"  _

_ She didn't know Sam well (not yet, anyway) but he seemed to be an intelligent, thoughtful man. His brother could be abrasive and difficult, but Sam usually tried to remain open and calm. She thought, of any of them, Sam would be the best to talk with about her problem. But, that would mean revealing more about her life in Beacon Hills. Her family name wasn't met with smiles and warm greetings. So far, she was only known as Christina Valet in the bunker; Mary had kept that promise, knowing how she worried about the damage Kate and Gerard (and her mother) may have done around the world.  _

_ Maybe, eventually, she would tell the others who she really was—once she knew she'd be remaining with the Winchesters and their found family.  _

_ "I… it's pretty complicated," Allison said.  _

_ He must have heard the hesitation in her voice because he didn't push. "Well. For starters… you apologised?" _

_ She nodded.  _

_ "Then… all you can do is let them know you're available when they're ready. Maybe call a mutual friend or ally?" he suggested. "And ask if they can pass on a message… maybe?"  _

_ She nodded again. Then, she looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks, Sam," she murmured.  _

_ "We've all got crappy situations in our pasts," he said, smiling back at her. "If we're lucky, we get to fix them. Sometimes, we can't and we have to live with that… but, hopefully, at least, we can learn from them and try to do better."  _

_ "Sounds like you've been there," she said.  _

_ His smile faded from his face. "Oh, yeah," he replied. "I've screwed up a lot. Hunting… is not easy." _

_ "Understatement." _

_ He huffed. "Yeah. Definitely. Just… try your best and cut yourself some slack when you can," he advised. "And lean on your people for support. Half the trouble I caused in the past started because I didn't want to be a burden on my family."  _

_ "So… if I want to lean on you?"  _

_ To Allison's surprise, Sam's cheeks flushed. He smiled, too, though, and she found herself smiling back at him.  _

_ "I, um, any time," he responded. He cleared his throat and added, "Seriously. Yes."  _

_ Looking down at her phone, Allison wondered if she could talk Isaac into approaching Derek on her behalf. Scott wouldn't be a good idea; he might have joined Derek's pack, but he could be more of an obstacle than Peter in certain situations. Boyd was steadfastly loyal to Derek and Erica was a wildcard. Allison knew Jackson wouldn't help her. Lydia wasn't a good choice, either, since she looked out for herself first and the pack second. Even though Feliks had expressed concern about Stiles' whereabouts, he could be indelicate. And Allison had little-to-no relationship with Cora, Peter, and Malia. Isaac was probably her best choice.  _

_ She selected his number from her contacts before she could talk herself out of calling him.  _

"Allison? Are you okay?"  _ he asked, after answering on the second ring.  _

_ "Yeah, yes, I'm fine," she replied. "I just… I was wondering…"  _

"What? If I can, I will."

_ Allison felt Sam lean his arm into her shoulder, bolstering her in his own way. She sucked in a breath, and exhaled slowly; then, after another breath, she spoke.  _

_ "Could you talk to Derek for me?" she asked.  _

"Uh…"

_ "I don't want to make him do something he doesn't want to do—" _

_ Something clicked, and the background became louder; it barely registered as she tried to get her words out in a way that Issac could understand.  _

_ "—but I want to come  _ home  _ for the holidays and I want to tell him I'm going to try to make it right." _

_ Derek's voice was quiet, but she could hear his anger vibrating through it.  _ "What makes you think I want any sort of reparations from  _ you, _ Argent?"  _ he asked.  _

_ "Derek—" _

"You've done enough,"  _ he interrupted.  _ "Now, you can come to Beacon Hills to visit your family. I can't stop you from that. And I can't stop the others from visiting you, either. But, you are not allowed at any Hale property. And, when people recognise you, because your disguise isn't  _ that _ great, you better be prepared to explain how you let a community of people that includes the Sheriff and Stiles believe you were dead. There will be questions for you and your father." __

_ Allison sighed. "Derek… I'm trying to find him. He's well hidden… I don't know how—"  _

"He's never coming back,"  _ Derek interrupted, in a quiet voice that lacked his usual anger.  _ "Not after what happened, and definitely not after realising we all lied about you." 

_ "You didn't—"  _

"I did. You and your father forced me into that secret. And just because he's not here doesn't mean we're not lying to him. The fact that no one suggested telling the Sheriff to tell Stiles—either that there's an emergency to get him here to tell him in person or just the whole truth over the phone—means we're all lying to him. Don't put a pretty spin on the truth. You sound delusional." 

_ "I'm going to find him and fix this. I promise."  _

_ Instead of growling, Derek sighed.  _ "I learned a long time ago that an Argent can't be trusted. Do whatever you want. Just stop contacting me, or I'll send my call logs and voicemails to my lawyer," _ he said, before ending the call and closing down their line of communication.  _

_ Allison lowered her phone and looked down at it. A text from Isaac flashed across the screen:  _ Sorry. You're still a sensitive topic around here.

_ Isaac's lack of emotional intelligence is surprising. She wondered why he, of all people, didn't understand what her returning from the dead meant for Stiles—and for Derek. He'd become adept at sympathising with people, after he gained control of his werewolf side and after everything they'd experienced together; she thought Scott had shown him how to consider all sides of an issue before jumping to a (violent) course of action.  _

_ Scott...  _

_ Well, that could be the issue. She knew Scott and Derek barely saw eye-to-eye. It had been so bad, at several points, from what Allison could remember, that she also remembered wondering, at the time, why Scott didn't try to join another pack. He might have had to move, but he might have been happier.  _

_ "Penny for your thoughts?" Sam asked.  _

_ Allison shook her head before smiling at him. "They're not worth that much," she said. "Thanks. I'm okay. It's just… going to be tough to fix it."  _

_ "You'll get it," he said, nudging her shoulder. "In the meantime, let's go get some ice cream."  _

_ Allison's smile stretched. "Dean's secret stash?"  _

_ At that, Sam laughed. "Nah. Let's go take Baby for a drive into town," he decided.  _

_ Allison accepted the offer. Spending time with Sam might give them a chance to start becoming real friends; spending time with Sam would be an excellent distraction from the mission ahead of her. _


	10. Chapter 10

With Stiles, Alec, and Magnus gone for the night and Caolán in another room, Allison finally pulls out her phone and looks down at it. Every message is from Lydia. 

_ He'll never forgive us. I take it you found him.  _

_ Derek looks like he's finally broken.  _

_ Cora kicked everyone but the family out of the house and told us not to come back until they say so. I don't think she has a leg to stand on. They kept you a secret, too. But. Not the point. They're looking after Derek.  _

_ I went ahead and told the Sheriff. He's furious, too. And rightly so.  _

_ Of course, Feliks is pissed off at me about that.  _

_ We really screwed up.  _

_ Side note: Stiles can transport?! _

Having seen it herself, Allison knows it is a shocking sight. She knows some beings, like the Skinwalkers, have powers that the Argent Bestiary has never recorded; they only uncovered information they obtained through hunting and, although it kills her to admit it, experimentation when they were able to capture live supernatural creatures. Gerard tried to tell her about those experiments, as he'd conducted some himself, but it had been so gruesome that she barely listened to—or remembered—his tales of selfish and sadistic destruction. 

The Argents have a bloody history, and a lot of it isn't their blood. She knows why Derek is hostile towards her. He experienced a lot of pain, between Kate, Victoria, and Gerard, and she is a representative of them. She hopes he knows on some level that she doesn't mean to cause him pain; however, she also knows that doesn't make a difference because she did hurt him. 

Before Lydia can send her another text, she unlocks her phone and calls her. 

_ "Allison… did you know he can do that? Do you know what it means for physics? My research—"  _

"Lydia, maybe that's not what you should be focused on right now," Allison says. "Tell me what happened." 

Lydia sighs in her ear.  _ "I… yes, all right. So… he just came in out of the shadows, surprising everyone. The werewolves didn't realise it was him right away, I don't think, just that there's an intruder in the house, and they started growling and stuff,"  _ she explains.  _ "He basically stuck Erica, Liam, and Feliks to the wall with magic. They couldn't move. At all. Liam… well, he lost his shit. It was… I've never seen Liam  _ that bad,  _ Allison. Jackson and Boyd tried to get to Stiles—not to hurt him, just… to be between him and the rest of the pack—but Scott got there first."  _

"Oh no," Allison breathes. 

Lydia's hum confirms that it was as bad as Allison expects it to be. 

"What did he say? What did he do?" Allison asks. 

_ "Well, the idiot started talking about how they didn't want to tell him because he was doing okay, out on his own, and because he wasn't pack," _ Lydia explains. Allison groans in response but doesn't otherwise interrupt; she can feel more is coming and she tries to brace herself.  _ "Stiles laughed. It was… a terrifying sound. And I think Scott knew how much trouble he was in, because he just kept talking, trying to justify…  _

_ "Stiles punched him when Scott said something about Deaton. Knocked him down hard. At that point, Feliks started talking—and not at all helping—and Stiles… he lost it." _

"Is everyone—"

_ "They're okay. Ish,"  _ Lydia interrupts.  _ "Feliks started talking about how he thought they were protecting Stiles. Stiles started shouting things I didn't understand. Something about Claudia—their mom. She knew things. About Beacon Hills and the nemeton. Apparently. I didn't… I don't know what any of that means, really. But, I think Derek did, somehow." _

Allison doesn't know what that means, either, but she does believe that Claudia had magic or was  _ something else _ when she was alive. She wonders if Deaton knew about her; she wonders if Deaton were responsible for her death. It isn't a surprise that her thoughts go there, with all the information she has about Deaton's actions and inactions fizzling in her mind. The small bit of guilt she still feels when she thinks back to shooting him fades even more. Stiles and the Hales weren't the first people he wronged. There are other victims—and Claudia Stilinski could be among those numbers. Allison did her job and her duty, to protect and defend the people who can't protect and defend themselves. 

_ "Anyway. I'll figure that out later," _ Lydia says, pulling Allison from her thoughts.  _ "When he finished giving Feliks that information, he told Feliks and Scott they're finished. I mean, he told all of us that. Derek, too." _

Allison's heart clenches in her chest. "No…" she whispers. 

_ "And then he left,"  _ Lydia finishes. 

"How… what… Derek—" 

_ "I don't know if he's okay yet. When Stiles disappeared through the shadows again, he just… he… well. He always seems off. The way he hunches in on himself a lot,"  _ Lydia says, interrupting Allison and preventing her from asking a question about Derek.  _ "I thought depression. It would make sense. But now… I think it's something else. _

_ "Anyway, he sort of… crumbled. Like he was in physical pain. Before Stiles left. After, it got worse. Cora told us to leave. Peter and Malia are the only two allowed to stay and they backed her up. Even Liam got kicked out, and he's supposed to be on house arrest because of the fight. I think he's staying with Scott, which may be the dumbest thing ever, but there wasn't time to organise anything better before everyone went their separate ways." _

Allison frowns at the thought of Stiles severing any remaining ties to Derek and Beacon Hills. What she's been learning about Feliks, from Stiles and his friends, especially, doesn't suggest they were ever close or that they'll ever become close. 

She hates that she contributed to the pack's fracturing, but she can see that their foundation, with her included, wasn't as strong as she'd previously assumed. 

"We relied on Stiles, I think," Allison says quietly. "And never appreciated what he gave us." 

_ "Maybe… yeah. Yes, I can see that," _ Lydia concedes. 

"What did he say to you? Anything?" 

Lydia makes a soft, sad noise that Allison has never heard her make before, through all the ups and downs in their past. 

_ "He reminded me of… of the day of your funeral,"  _ she replies.  _ "When I came to get him. No one had checked on him, as far as I knew. Scott and Feliks and everyone were still… y'know. And your dad was watching him. They thought he was there to protect Stiles."  _

Before Allison can apologise for Chris' actions, Lydia continues talking. 

_ "He was so sad. He'd been floundering. I don't know if he ever really recovered from the possession, now that I think about it. I think he just got better at hiding his pain," _ she says.  _ "He reminded me of that. Me trying to get him up, and telling him we wanted him there—but how he knew better. He said he appreciated that I came to try to help him in my own way. _

_ "Then, he reminded me of how he came for me at Eichen House. How he saved me. And this is all how I treated him, after these things we experienced together," _ she adds. She sighs and makes that sad noise again.  _ "How did we go so wrong, Allison? Even… I tried to figure out what he needed to stay with us again, but… it went so bad. It's like… I couldn't… I knew what I wanted to say, but—"  _

"We lost our heart when we lost Stiles, maybe," Allison interrupts. "There's more than one type of strength in a pack. And Stiles… he was shouldering a lot of that pillar on his own." 

_ "I can't see it… but maybe I'm not supposed to,"  _ Lydia says.  _ "My talents aren't based in heart. Logic, fact, science, death… but not heart. I don't… I don't think I'm ever supposed to understand it. Which would make sense, considering how awful at relationships I am." _

"What do you mean?" Allison asks. 

_ "Jackson, Aiden, Feliks?" _ Lydia reminds her.  _ "I mean… every relationship was or is doomed, for one reason or another." _

"You think your relationship with Feliks is doomed?" Allison asks. 

Lydia is silent for a few minutes. Then, she says,  _ "I know enough about everything now to realise there are times when Feliks deliberately un-included Stiles from pack business. And I know he hurt Stiles when he was human. Before everything supernatural. And… from what I've seen, Feliks isn't all that interested in making amends. He wants to fix things, yes. But, I think that's more because the Sheriff isn't in his fan club anymore. I might be woefully inept at making amends with Stiles. And I might be doomed to live alone. But, like I told you before, I can't stay with Feliks. Not after all this. It's too little and too late, but I'll be breaking up with him tomorrow."  _

"I'm sorry," Allison murmurs. 

_ "I'm only sorry it's taken me so long to realise how wrong I've been," _ Lydia says. After a brief pause, she asks,  _ "Are you staying wherever Stiles lives?"  _

"One of his friends put me up for a few days. At least until Stiles decides to banish me," Allison says. "They care about him. They're really good for him. To him." 

_ "I could see that much. I'm glad he has them," _ she comments. 

Allison stifles a yawn. Recent events are catching up with her, reminding her how long she's been moving and working. 

_ "Call me before you go back to work, all right?"  _ Lydia asks.  _ "Maybe I'll meet you somewhere. We can talk more in person." _

"That would be great," Allison agrees. 

After ending the call and sliding her phone onto its charger, she settles back down on the sofa and looks around the room. Stiles' and Lydia's words are still loose in her mind, rolling around together as she tries to figure out what to make of their current situation. 

#####

_ At the knocking on the condominium door, Allison slipped out of the living room to hide in the office. Her father was dividing his time between Melissa's house and the condo; he told Allison that Melissa understood he didn't want to intrude on family or pack traditions, and any time he'd be away was offset by the knowledge that at least some of the pack would be visiting her temporary and secret home.  _

_ Chris greeted the intruder on their private time. "Deputy Parrish."  _

_ "Sorry to bother you, Mister Argent," Parrish said from the foyer. "I don't want to ask, but I'm following up a lead on a stalking case."  _

_ "And you think… I'm involved?" Chris inquired. "Stalking someone?"  _

_ The next sound Allison heard was a snort from Parrish. "I know who's doing the stalking this time, and it's not you," he said. "Do you have any family in town? Cousins, maybe?"  _

_ Allison closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She'd left a letter in Derek's mailbox that morning; it was a risk to get so close to the property line, but she'd needed to tell him that she was heading out on another lead in her hunt to make things right (or for Stiles), one from a reliable source (Charlie), and she was hopeful she'd be able to fix the rifts between them soon. She needed to make their pack whole again. She never thought Derek would take the letter to law enforcement.  _

_ Still, deep down, she didn't regret it.  _

_ "No," her father said. "It's just me here. Escaping when the holiday magic at Melissa's is… a little much."  _

_ "Would you tell me if you find out hunters are in town?"  _

_ Chris replied, "My arrangement with Derek is still in place. That is part of my side of things. To tell him and the Sheriff."  _

_ "All right. I'd appreciate if you can let me know if someone you know with the last name 'Valet' shows up in town," Parrish said. When Chris grunted, he added, "Thanks for your time." _

_ The door closed and locked. Allison waited quietly until Chris appeared in the hallway, looking into his study and at her with a frown on his face. _

_ "Can't you just leave him alone?" Chris asked.  _

_ She shrugged. "I'm trying to fix this mess," she said as she walked past him, back to the living room.  _

_ Even from the other room, she could hear Chris sigh.  _


	11. Chapter 11

Nothing is repaired overnight. 

While Stiles doesn't start speaking with Allison as if they are close friends, he also doesn't completely freeze her out of his life. Allison is surprised when he and Caolán invite her to stay for a few more days and, again, when Stiles tells her that she is invited to join him, Caolán, Magnus, Alec, and Alec's sister for brunch during one of those days. She's even more surprised when Stiles doesn't disappear the first time their eyes meet at Breakfast at Tiffany's, the cosy diner-type restaurant where they all gather. 

It isn't a perfect brunch. Stiles manages to avoid speaking directly to Allison for a lot of it, although he seems to be in a pleasant mood. Magnus' mood, on the other hand, visibly sharpens any time he has to interact with Allison, and it sets her on a slight and nervous edge. 

Magnus also glares at her when he thinks no one else is watching them. 

At least the mimosas are delicious. 

"So. Christina, is it?" Isabelle asks. At Allison's nod, she smiles. "How do you know everyone? I thought I knew all of Alec's friends…"

"I, um—"

"She knows some people in my life, way back when," Stiles says. "We crossed paths a couple days ago… we're getting reacquainted."

"Oooh, history. Complicated?"

Stiles huffs out a little laugh. "Something like that, but probably way less sordid than you're imagining, Izzy," he says. 

Isabelle pouts. "No fun. I bet you have tons of sordid stories," she mutters before plucking a strawberry from her fruit salad. "Anyway. How did your guardian animals tattoos work out? Clary told me about the designs." 

"Great!" Stiles exclaims. "They really came through during my kidnapping. I wasn't sure, but—"

"We found them once we finally located and crossed the magical barrier," Magnus says. "And they brought us right to Jimmy, in the heat of the moment, so to speak." 

Stiles snorts. "Yeah, right as they started trying to melt my foot," he adds. 

Isabelle frowns. "You're okay now?" she asks. 

"Uh, yeah, mostly," he admits. "Still get some nightmares, but I can't tell if they're torture-related or just, y'know, life-related." 

Allison ducks her head at Magnus' pointed look in her direction. She knows hunters are to blame for Stiles' physical pain; she knows the pack is responsible for his emotional pain. And her faked death is at least adjacent to the root of that latter pain and the issues between Stiles and the pack. But, it hurts every time Magnus tries to lay more fault at her feet. 

"Where are you off to next, Jimmy?" Isabelle asks after a sip of her drink. "Vacation?"

Allison peeks up at Stiles again. By his side, Magnus blinks and leans back in his seat; as he relaxes and focuses his attention on Stiles, he drapes his arm around the back of Stiles' chair. Curious about Stiles' answer, Allison leans forward slightly as she cuts a piece of her french toast. 

"I don't know," he says. "I have to head back to Shiprock for a bit. I'm not done learning my Skinwalker pal. And then… I don't know. I thought I'd stick around for a bit… but, the open road is very tempting right now." 

"You should come visit me," Isabelle declares, smiling. "Luke's looking for a new emissary. Maybe you two would hit it off." 

At her suggestion, Allison feels her insides churn. Derek will never forgive her if Stiles decides to join another pack. 

"I already know he's a decent guy, but his pack and New York aren't a good permanent fit for me," Stiles says. He smiles. "Excelsior is my home."

"For now."

Stiles rolls his eyes at her comment. "I don't like East Coast winters, Iz," he says. "What's with the matchmaking?"

She shrugs. "I just think you need to settle down." 

Stiles, Alec, and Magnus roll their eyes, almost at the exact same time. Caolán smiles into his mimosa. 

"You need to stop channeling Mom," Alec says. 

Isabelle's outrage at Alec's comparison was almost comical in its over-exaggeration. Wide-eyed and open mouthed, she gawks at Alec for a moment before throwing her napkin at his head. 

"Take that back!"

"Stop trying to fix Jimmy up with a pack, then," Alec says. "He has a cause and he likes what he does. Tying himself to a pack would prevent him from doing that work."

"What Alec said," Stiles adds. "Izzy, I'm okay. Magnus would not have let anyone melt any of me. Not completely." 

"Not ever, if I can help it. I'm already commissioning a tattoo for both of us. If he's in danger, it will tell me—and where," Magnus says. 

Isabelle's eyes light up with joy and curiosity. "Oh, wow, that sounds… simple and complicated, all at the same time!" she exclaims. "Like a mood ring, but with a sort of scrying sigil?"

Alec nods. "Something like that," he says. "Clary and I are working together on it, with help from the rest of the gang." 

"Show me when you've got it figured out?" Isabelle asks. "I'd love to see the spellwork behind it."

"Yeah, sure," Alec agrees. "Finder's fee and credit to the shop if you figure out how to incorporate it into your jewelry, though."

Isabelle nods and says, "Deal."

With that decided, Isabelle's attention turns back to Allison. She finds herself sitting up a bit straighter under the scrutiny and then she mentally scolds herself for reacting. 

"So… you're someone from Jimmy's past. Ish. And you've got one of Clary's pieces on your arm," she says, gesturing with a nod of her head. "But, you don't feel like magic. You… have other deep magic on you, years old. It's barely there. I can still feel it. What's that about?"

Caolán clears his throat. "Look at her aura," he says. 

Isabelle pulls a pair of sunglasses out of her purse. She unfolds them and puts them on her face; after turning and giving Allison a quick once-over, she nods and removes the glasses. 

"No one's aura reading is as good as Caolán's so the rest of us have to use gadgets," Stiles explains, looking at Allison as he takes the glasses from Isabelle's hand. 

"You were very near death," Isabelle says as Stiles looks at her through the magical lenses. "Someone pulled you out." 

"Unintentionally, but… yes," Allison says, glancing at Stiles. "He, ah, his mother was there, in the white light. She said he was doing it without realising it. I thought the whole thing was a wild hallucination." 

Isabelle smiles. When he's done studying her aura, Stiles looks far more solemn than he had throughout the morning until that point. 

"Magic can be like that when you're not expecting it. Well, you're a lucky duck, huh?"

With a firm nod, Allison says, "Very."

"What are you doing with your second chance?"

"I, um, I work with Mary Winchester," she admits. 

"And her merry band of misfits," Isabelle adds. 

Allison smiles at that comment. It's accurate. 

"I worked with her sons once," Isabelle says. "They helped us deal with an old follower of those strict hunters."

"Argents?" Magnus asks, earning an elbow to his side from Stiles. 

Isabelle shakes her head. "No, no, you remember, that group. They call themselves Men of Letters? One of them came after Luke a few years back," she explains. 

Alec nods, as if the story is already familiar. Magnus barely reacts; he probably knows the story, too. Caolán doesn't, though, because he leans forward and asks her questions about the encounter. Allison settles in her seat and listens as she continues to pick at her meal, and she notices Stiles watching her as Isabelle and Caolán talk. She wants to explain—she wants to tell Stiles what she remembers about the encounter with Claudia—and she wants to thank him for saving her, even if he hadn't meant to do it. 

But, it's not the time for that conversation. She feels like that will have to wait until she's trusted enough for them to have less of an audience. 

#####

_ While she didn't do it often, she did feel the pull to the local cemetery and her mother's grave when she crept into Beacon Hills for holidays. On her first visit, she'd stopped by Claudia Stilinski's grave and left a bouquet of mixed hydrangea flowers and yellow zinnia flowers; it had meant she'd needed to drive out of the county to find a florist who wouldn't see through her disguise, but she liked the combination of meanings (thankfulness and daily remembrance, respectively) and she liked being able to leave something to pay homage to the mother of the person who (unknowingly) saved her life. She kept up that tradition, by choosing to preorder that bunch of flowers along with a bundle of yellow chrysanthemums for her own mother (because they were, weirdly (to Allison, anyway), her favourites), as often as she could.  _

_ She'd already visited Claudia that Christmas, and she was nearly through sitting next to her mother's grave and thinking about her family (and all the baggage associated with them), when she heard a low, quiet voice across the field.  _

_ Sheriff Stilinski.  _

_ Allison peeked up as slowly and as quietly as she could manage, and saw the man standing in front of Claudia's grave. Her plot was too close to the gate by her rental vehicle; she couldn't slip past the Sheriff without him seeing her.  _

_ As he started talking about Feliks' visit earlier that day, Allison ducked behind her mother's marker. He wouldn't come towards Victoria Argent, as far as she knew, so she assumed she'd be safe there. She just wished she could block out his words because they were too intimate for her ears.  _

_ "I'm glad he still comes to see you, Claudia," Sheriff Stilinski murmured. "I worry about him. I mean, he's still… Feliks. Confident, outgoing, fun. But, every once and awhile, he looks… confused. Not… not like you were, at the end. Not like he's sick. Just… he looks unsure. I'm not used to seeing that on his face. He never tells me what's going on when I ask.  _

_ "I think he's considering education as a career path. I can't see that for him. I've never seen him even interact with children, except for his peers. But, he seems sure, and I'm trying to be supportive."  _

_ Allison closed her eyes as she listened. She hated that she was stuck in the cemetery—and she hated that she was hoping the Sheriff would talk about Stiles, too, and give her a clue about his whereabouts.  _

_ "I wish you were still here, almost every day, but it's worse at Christmas," Sheriff Stilinski said. "You were it for me, and you understood us… helped us fit together.  _

_ "Stiles isn't coming back again this year. I tried. But I wasn't enough. We're going to do a video call, I think, and I'm going to get a few days off in the new year so he and I can have our own celebration. It's not the same as our old family holidays, but it will have to do. _

_ "He's with a… well. He's with a mentor of sorts. Hands on learning. There's some sort of thing with the full moon—the people he's with believe in those sorts of things—and he won't be back near civilisation until Boxing Day. Moon cycles and holidays sometimes clash," the Sheriff continued. "And, they're important to Stiles. He promised me he's being careful and learning lots… but I worry about him, too. He lets me know where he is, when he moves, so I don't have to wonder about that." _

_ As he sighed and fell silent, Allison pondered what Sheriff Stilinski said. It sounded like Stiles joined a pack.  _

_ Why would Stiles join another pack? He belonged in Beacon Hills; he belonged in Derek's pack.  _

_ She unlocked her phone, dimmed the screen, and confirmed that both the ringer and vibrations were silenced. Then, she looked through her contacts, trying to find the best person to text.  _

_ She settled on Scott, thinking he would know more about Stiles than the others.  _

What happened before Stiles left BH?  _ was quickly responded to with a  _ Nada. Y? Did he do smthg?!

_ Allison quickly told him that nothing was wrong, that she was just curious to explain why he stayed away for so long, and she wished him a good night. Scott's response didn't sit well with her; if he were with another pack, Stiles would be loyal to them, and he probably wouldn't come back to another alpha's territory.  _

_ On impulse, she sent a text to Boyd. She thought, of all of them, Boyd would give her as neutral a truth as possible—although there was a risk he could clam up to protect Derek and the pack.  _

_ A few minutes later, after Sheriff Stilinski resumed talking about the community and its inhabitants instead of about their family, Boyd's response flashed across her screen:  _ Some felt that Stiles wasn't pack and they told him so. 

_ Allison almost moaned out loud.  _

_ So many tiny moments in her interactions with the pack made much more sense with that piece of information.  _

_ "Well… I better get home. I have to work a double tomorrow. I'll… I'll see you soon, Claudia, my heart."  _

_ Allison waited five full minutes, counting every second on her phone, before she dared to peek beyond her mother's marker. The Sheriff was gone. Allison was alone with her thoughts, mostly centred on the fallout between Stiles and the pack with a small portion wondering how the Sheriff hid that worry and grief from everyone—and if he were the one who taught Stiles how to hide his own pain from the people in his life. _

_ Her mission was becoming more difficult. If she could connect with Stiles, though, eventually, maybe she could reconnect the pack and Stiles and fix the damage between them. And then, they could move forward together, bonded in their goal of making Beacon Hills a safe place for everyone.  _

#####

"What are you reading?" 

Allison had been careful to keep her voice soft, but Caolán still jumps when she speaks. 

"Sorry," she adds. 

He smiles and shakes his head before closing two heavy and ancient-looking books; as he stands, he sets down his tablet and locks the screen. 

"I'm just trying to do some research," he explains. "Can't sleep?" 

Talking about her near-death experience had been fine, in the moment—or so she thought. When she tucked into bed, the memory of her mother and the light and Claudia was paired with the memory of events that preceded that. Those were the gateway; before she knew it, her mind was assaulted on all sides. 

"Ah, no. Loud thoughts." 

He nods and touches her shoulder in a gesture that seems more friendly than what they are to each other. 

When he disappears into his small kitchen, Allison shuffles behind him. She misses the bunker; there is always  _ someone  _ awake when she can't sleep and they always make time for fun to combat the shadows caused by their jobs. The last time she'd been hit with a bout of Beacon-Hills-related insomnia, Claire had been up and they'd watched a couple comedy movies back-to-back while devouring a whole batch of chocolate chip cookies. When she'd struggled after a particularly bad mission, the one with the hunter and the kanima venom (because it haunted her, then, and would continue haunt her for a long time), Dean had been working on his car in the large underground garage; he'd taught her how to do an oil change on his precious Impala, Baby, and then he'd taught her the finer points of a successful air guitar. 

Caolán seems to be focused on making two cups of tea, instead of movies, car repairs, or fake instrument playing. He pulls two mugs down from a cupboard and puts strainers in each one. As his kettle heats water, he adds a separate blend of tea to each strainer; she can only see one is greenish and one is blackish, but she can't determine their differences more than that until he explains them to her. 

"This is a blend I use when I can't sleep," he tells her when he puts the mug of lighter tea in her hands. 

She follows him back out to the living room, where his books, papers, and tablet are waiting for him. He settles down with his darker tea and leaves Allison to choose a seat. With him in one of his armchairs, she chooses the other; she'd be closer to him there, and she likes the idea of curling up between its padded arms over stretching out on the sofa. 

"Is yours to help you stay awake?" she asks, gesturing to the tea. 

Caolán nods. "I have a bit more reading to do," he says. 

"Can I ask… what about?" 

He nods again. Then, he holds up a drawing of some sort of tree. It looks like an old sort of ink drawing, instead of a modern rendering; she isn't sure what it's supposed to be. 

"The concept of a world tree. Or a cosmic tree," Caolán explains. "I have some questions about what that despicable excuse for a druid was doing." 

"Beyond looking for power?" Allison asks. 

"The consequences, then, because we will probably never figure out exactly what he wanted  _ to do _ with that power, unless he wrote it out in one of his journals," Caolán amends as he returns to studying another piece of paper. "If he'd taken the power from Stiles and the point of convergence, would there have been fallout? Would that have been localised to Beacon County? Or, would it have extended out along the ley lines?" 

Allison frowns. She'd never considered that side of the matter; up until that moment, she'd considered it as simple as  _ stop bad guy, protect good guy. _

"I… oh. When you put it that way… that could've been… bad." 

When Caolán looks up at her, he smirks. "That's putting it mildly," he agrees. He gestures to his work. "There's very little information about nemeta that has been proven, so I'm looking at mythology about world trees, to see if there is anything that might help us put together a picture—in case anything goes awry, or in case we encounter someone like him again." 

"Smart," Allison comments. "The extent of my concerns hadn't gone farther than Stiles' safety and the safety of the pack." 

While he doesn't say anything, Caolán's hum suggests some sort of skepticism. Allison wants to jump to her own defense—and to that of the pack—but the last few days have been telling her that her perception of herself and of others is not as true as she believed it to be. She might be getting more information, now that Deaton's true colours have been revealed and the pack's betas are choosing sides in the fallout, but she doesn't have the whole story and she is learning that she can't forcibly fix the situation to her liking. 

She inhales slowly and deeply, breathing in the tea's steam, and then she lowers her mug. "I know you and the others have your doubts, but I really did come here with good intentions," she says. 

"Yes, I know you believe that," Caolán replies. "But, it would behoove you to remember that a hunter's intentions are not the best for everyone around them." 

Her eyes narrow at that comment. She isn't  _ just _ an Argent. She works hard every day to make choices that protect the supernatural community. She protects them more than she protects the unaware mundane society around them all. She—

"The Winchesters do a lot of good, but they also do a lot of harm," Caolán says, interrupting her thoughts. "And, I understand you are trying to make amends for some of what your family has done. However, all of you are still perceiving the world through hunter lenses, so."

"You think I can't decide what's objectively good or bad?" 

Caolán shrugs and sets down a piece of paper he'd been examining as he spoke. "I think you can, yes, but you are still influenced by your upbringing, training, and experiences," he says. "Hypothetically speaking… let's say you are the one who shot Alan Deaton. When you killed him, again, hypothetically, did you consider that his magic might be attached to an artifact in his office, or a partially started ritual somewhere?"

At his suggestion, Allison's heart skips a beat inside her chest. He can't know; the details of those things aren't written in auras or souls. And, if he's a mind reader, he is being very rude. 

"Wouldn't it just… die, too?" she asked. "Hypothetically." 

At that, he snorts. "Perhaps, if he were something other than a supposed druid," he replies. 

"Why does what type of magic he did matter?" Allison asks. 

"This is what I'm talking about," Caolán says. "You don't  _ consider. _ You act like you know best—even when you do not." 

He inhales slowly, letting his head tip back over his shoulders and linger there for a moment; then, he exhales and straightens. Allison sips her tea. Even though he might be annoyed or angry with her, Caolán is her best bet for answers. No one else would bother—or else they'd be too busy protecting their secrets and Stiles. Caolán seems to realise there is some middle ground between them all. 

"Magic users aren't all the same. We're… well, for the lack of a better description, we're on a spectrum," he says, gesturing with his hands. "On one end, we have what you could call the ritual users. Even a mundane person with no spark of magic inside of them can make a ritual work with enough belief. Some ritual users move along the spectrum, but it's not without great peril or great cost."

"And… Deaton's a ritual user?"

Caolán lowers his hands. "Yes, mostly. He relied on rituals and objects to amplify his intentions," he replies. "He had some magic, but not much, from what I understand. He could probably move mountain ash and other magical compounds. He could probably feel magic. Maybe he had an element of visionary powers. I don't know. But, what magic he could work needed a ritual and objects to be the most effective it could be." 

"So…" 

"So," he echoes. "When Deaton died, any rituals or objects he'd spelled… they are still imbued with the intention and power of the ritual. It's not like… someone making things happen with the power of their own belief. When that happens, when the caster dies, the magic dies—" 

"Because the belief doesn't exist anymore," Allison interjects. 

"Someone like that could have an object or spell that continues to work after their death, as long as their magic is inside of that item, through some sort of spell or ritual of their own," Caolán adds. "But, yes. Deaton could not look at you and set you on fire, let's say, but if he'd put a hex bag on you before he died, you'd still burn up when the set of circumstances were met to put that fire into existence." 

As the realisations of what she might have (unknowingly) done dawn on her mind, she cringes behind her mug of tea. 

"While we were able to clear out his office at the clinic of anything of magical value, in addition to his journals, we are hesitant to inspect them," Caolán says. "If he has some sort of curse placed on a specific item, we might not be able to dispel it before it can do damage. And this is a problem, because I believe he might have cast spells on the pack through the years." 

Her potential mistake slipped from the forefront of her mind. 

"We can fix them?" 

Caolán frowns. "Hardly. Magic… for no one to be suspicious, it would have to be subtle. Surely, someone would have noticed if all of a sudden McCall started punching Stiles… or worse? No, no, he would have to work something that played on what was already festering in the shadows," he explains. "The abuse they inflicted upon Stiles was far too insidious to be the result of overt magic." 

"Abuse?" 

"Yes, it was abuse. Anything else is dishonest—and protects those idiotic wolves. I'm not saying it's  _ all _ their fault. The lack of a pack bond and whatever Deaton may have done definitely contributed. But they were already well on their way to disaster, I am certain of that. 

"Alpha Hale's fears, guilt, and pain. McCall's selfishness and righteousness. Feliks'... well, I want to call it sociopathy, but I'm not sure that's completely right. Self-centredness and sense of superiority, then. Miss Martin has a bit of those, too, with her belief she's the smartest person in any or every room. I suppose that's why they'd paired up. Boyd's silence comes from the fear of losing his family—trauma leaves scars that inspire our actions and he is not exempt. His girlfriend… I have not seen her much, but from what Stiles has told me, she underwent quite the transformation with the bite, so I would suspect she doesn't want to be weak, again. Because humanity is, somehow, considered a weakness to her. 

"Everyone in that pack has scars and flaws and it is those scars and flaws that Deaton's magic may have preyed upon," Caolán says. "Even you and Stiles… you might be afflicted, something subtle and beyond my ability to detect, because you too have scars and flaws. But, let me make this clear: this is not an excuse. This type of magic,  _ if _ it is what I suspect, it can't make you do something you don't want to do already—or haven't at least considered doing. Unless they're experiencing pain or memory loss or other symptoms of consequential spellwork, that pack meant to hurt Stiles and cast him out. Deaton's magic may have helped—again, if it's what I suspect—but that's it." 

Allison frowns and looks away from Caolán's fierce and solemn face. He sips from his tea as she thinks, reconciling what he's just told her with what she'd assumed to be true. 

"I read a lot of hunter journals at the bunker. I try to look at their stories with an outsider's perspective… I try to see if I would make the same decision, or if there's a better way," she says in a quiet voice. "There was one hunter… he hunted werewolves. He never said anything about a code, but his entries always started with evidence of a human attack or danger of some kind." 

"No way to know if those actually happened," Caolán says. 

She nods. "I know. Or, I realise that, anyway. Anyway. There was one entry. About a pack's territorial dispute. Somewhere in Russia. An unconsummated mating bond can cause issues when they're betas. But," she says, "with an alpha… it can be far worse. He'd been on his way to put a stop to the violence, but a colleague told him they all killed each other. He said it was because an alpha hadn't explained their intentions and the mate match didn't know. The pack, essentially, tore itself apart. The pack bond was in disarray." 

"I know that story," Caolán admits. 

"Is it accurate?" Allison asks in response. 

Caolán snorts. "Sort of. The journal didn't tell you the alpha's mate match was from the Preobrazhensky family?" 

The name is familiar, and it wriggles around in Allison's mind. She knows she knows it… she just can't place it… 

"The hunter clan?" Caolán supplies. 

"Oh!" 

Caolán gives another snort. "I'm guessing your hunter didn't know much about that," he comments. 

"No… well, it never came up in the entry," she admits. 

"He was both clergy and clan, so he was likely a member of their elite hunting party," Caolán says. Allison nods; she knows, in her family history, too, hunting and religion were intertwined. "Luckily, the alpha was female, so there was no sexual orientation crisis in the public and mundane eye. However, she was still rebuffed by her mate match. He was a man of the gun and the cloth. No way was he going to abandon his duties. 

"But, he felt something for her. He was drawn to her. Mate matches always are, underneath everything else," he continues. "And his family used him as bait when they realised what the two could be to each other. Caught the alpha—and then the betas when they arrived for their alpha. They held them, somehow, for a month… just enough time to get the dosage and torture right. Just enough to make them mindlessly feral." 

Allison's heart leaps into her throat. She's heard enough of those stories to know it doesn't end well for anyone. 

"They left and unlocked the doors—magic, probably—and took the mate with them. The alpha ran after her mate match, as her wild instincts would drive her to do, and the betas were desperate and, ultimately, insulted that they were ignored," Caolán says. "They took offense to their alpha running after the hunters. They eventually killed her in the fight. Unsure if it were on purpose or not, but she still died. And then they felt the pack bond snap, and they went mad with grief." 

Imagining that happening to her friends, no matter how confused she is about their recent (and not-so-recent) actions, she feels her eyes filling with tears. "What happened to the hunter?" she asks, fearing the response. 

"He killed himself a year or two later," Caolán replies. "I have no idea if it was guilt or madness or misery. The emissary's account did not go into those details." 

He sighs. "Anyway, perspective matters—this is an example of that." 

Before Allison can say anything, Caolán's phone starts to vibrate. 

He stares at the screen for three rings, and then he sets it back on the table between the two arm chairs, face down so Allison cannot see who is calling and who Caolán wishes to ignore. The vibration cycle stops, eventually; then, a series of brief vibrations occurs, as if the caller is sending him a series of texts. 

Caolán snorts but he doesn't pick up the phone until he scrolls through some sort of scanned text on his tablet twice and skims a page in a book once, in between the scrolling, as if to confirm something in one text or the other. Once he's done with that, he picks up his phone. 

"I know it's you, using someone else's phone… I'm still not talking to you," Caolán mutters, before unlocking the screen, doing something that Allison realises is selecting a contact when he puts the device to his ear. After a few moments, he says, "Stiles, hey. I may have something… can you talk?" 

Without even a glance at Allison, Caolán grabs his tablet and one of the books and rises from his seat. He leaves the room; Allison stares through the doorway he'd taken, and wonders what secrets they're keeping from her. 

And, then, she feels guilty for coveting that information, when she knows she has no right to it after everything that's happened. 

#####

_ "I'm just here for a couple days, visiting my dad," Allison said into her phone as she walked along the trail that ran through the wooded public park.  _

_ She couldn't walk through a lot of the preserve, because (who knew?) the county only rented the land from the Hale Family Estate (or some sort of legal term Allison didn't understand), but the park was free and clear county property.  _

"Well, that sucks,"  _ Sam said in her ear.  _ "I was hoping I could take you on my next hunt." 

_ "You're leaving the basement—"  _

"Bunker," _ he corrected. _

_ "—for an actual job? I'm… wow. I wish I was there to see that!" Allison teased.  _

_ Sam chuckled.  _ "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm getting rusty, spending all that time with books. Dean and Charlie already gave me the spiel,"  _ he said.  _

_ "You want me to meet you somewhere? I could leave early," she offered. "Dad would understand."  _

"Nah… nah. It's okay. Spend time with your family," _ he murmured.  _ "I have Dean coming with me. Claire might, too." 

_ She liked knowing that Sam wouldn't be alone. He'd been helpful as she tried to acclimatise herself with the Winchesters' way of hunting and fixing problems caused by the supernatural and hunter communities. He'd been  _ supportive. _ They were becoming real friends, from sharing experiences and training together, and she knew she'd worry about him. She'd worry about him less with Dean on the trip, too.  _

_ "Okay. Well… text me sometime and let me know how it's going. And if you need help, call. I'll be leaving here on Wednesday, probably, so if you guys do need support, later, I can get there. Hopefully," she added. _

"Will do,"  _ Sam said.  _ "You be careful, too, all right?"

_ "It's not like this place is a war zone," Allison murmured. _

_ Cora's "I can change that" came at the same time as Sam's "Just humour me, all right?" and Allison froze, nearly mid-step, as she craned her neck to put Cora in her line of sight. She, too, was dressed casually, although her leggings and hooded sweatshirt suggested she was out for a run instead of the casual stroll Allison's jeans and sweater might have suggested to an outside observer.  _

_ "I will," Allison said, her voice still soft and calm. "Talk to you later, okay?" _

"Okay."

_ As soon as she ended the call, she tensed. She and Cora had never been on the best terms. With Derek, there had been grudging acceptance that had disintegrated when she'd fallen for Gerard's plotting. It had taken their struggles with Deucalion and his band of alphas for Derek to stop looking at her as if she were evil. But, then, she'd nearly died, and the reveal of her survival irrevocably burned any bridge they might have been rebuilding. Cora, on the other hand, had no history with Allison; she only knew the Argents as the people who murdered her family and sent her fleeing for her life. She came to Beacon Hills as a prisoner, when Allison and Derek were barely allies, and her mindset was a product of her experiences.  _

_ "You have some nerve," Cora growled.  _

_ "My dad lives here," Allison reminded her. "I'm just here to see him."  _

_ "You're not worried about the Sheriff seeing you?" _

_ Allison shook her head. "He's on nights this week." _

_ The sound Cora made was one of pure disgust. Allison resisted the urge to cringe.  _

_ "You honestly don't care, do you?" Cora asked. "What position you two put us all in with that treaty, how you and your father split the pack, that you have been lying to the man who risks his life every day to protect this county, not to mention his son… any of it. You just don't care!" _

_ "Do you?" Allison shot back, wanting to hit Cora where it hurt, too, even a little. "You claim to care about the Sheriff, and Feliks is a part of your pack, but you kicked Stiles out—and now, no one can find him! You want to talk about—"  _

_ "Oh, shut up," Cora interrupted. "Don't act like Stiles was your best friend."  _

_ "But—" _

_ "And you're the one who lets him continue to think he played a part in your death!" Cora continued, not letting Allison defend her actions as a high school student in love. "You and your father act like you're nothing like the rest of your family, but this… this is you deliberately hurting a human. So much for your code, huh?"  _

_ "And what you did didn't hurt a  _ human?!"  _ Allison demanded.  _

_ Cora flinched. After she recovered, she inhaled deeply and shrugged. "Well, we're monsters, right? It's in our nature," she said.  _

_ With that, Cora walked past her. Allison expected a shoulder shove, but Cora steered clear of her, keeping a few feet of space between them as she headed to the trail out of the park. Once she was nearer to the trees, Cora started jogging. She blended in with the other joggers and walkers, out enjoying their collective day, and Allison wondered how she and the others could be so nonchalant about pushing Stiles away. She contributed to his departure, she was sure, by remaining dead to them for the rest of high school, and she felt the heavy, constant weight of guilt around her heart. But she didn't see much of that with the pack. _

_ She didn't understand.  _


	12. Chapter 12

Allison throws a punch—with all the force she can muster, just like Alec demanded—and grunts when Alec dodges it. In response to her direct attack, Alec tries to sweep her legs with one of his; she just manages to hop over his effort, but her landing is a little shaky. He catches up to her as she regains her balance and starts pushing her towards the edge of the square painted on the concrete floor of the rooftop. 

"Giving up yet?" Alec asks. 

She rolls her eyes and drops to the floor as Alec pounces. She rolls her body and he doesn't make contact. After a roll in another direction, she's on her knees behind him and she elbows him in the back. Alec responds by grabbing her around the neck; Allison responds by flipping him over her shoulder and scurrying out of his reach. 

Alec, too, rolls, before pushing himself to his feet. He's a great sparring partner—probably the best Allison's ever had—even though (and she will deny it with her last breath) she is ready to stop. Still, she won't give voice to her thoughts because she refuses to seem weak to Alec. He invited her to their building, and she's appreciative of that, but she cannot seem weak to any of them. She needs them to know they can count on her. 

"How about you?" she asks. "Getting tired?" 

He grins and shakes his head. His loose, floppy hair swings; it's damp from exertion and it's curling more wildly than Allison has ever seen it behave. 

As he shifts his weight and brings up his hands, he says, "Are we going to have to call a truce?" 

Allison laughs. 

"Yes, yes, you're both very tough, we're suitably impressed." 

At the sound of Magnus' voice, Alec turns. Instinct has Allison itching to reach forward and kick the back of Alec's knee, but she refrains. She doesn't want to seem weak; she doesn't want to seem mean, either. 

Stiles and Magnus are standing, side by side, with their arms wrapped around each other's backs. They seem so comfortable with each other, pressed into their shared space and touching; Allison doesn't remember when she'd ever felt at ease with another person so close to her. Even in her relationship with Sam, they're careful with each other; they both have history and they're both mindful of it. Stiles doesn't appear to have any concern like that with Magnus—or with Alec, who leaves Allison to wrap both Stiles and Magnus up into hugs. 

"Can I steal your sparring partner?" Stiles asks Alec. 

"Sure, we can be done," Alec says. He catches Magnus' hand in his and tugs him close for a kiss. "You busy?"

"If you're thinking about a long, hot soak in our tub… my schedule is suddenly wide open," Magnus murmurs with a wink. 

Alec grins, kisses him again, and tugs him away to the roof access door. Allison knows she's smiling as she watches them; despite any personal issues she has with Magnus, she thinks he and Alec are a great pair. Their relationship seems strong, built on knowing each other and genuinely caring for each other; they give her hope that love is still in the world, because theirs is so strong to observe, even through small gestures. 

"You're not the first to get swept up in their love vibes," Stiles comments, smirking. "They're practically contagious." 

"Magic?" Allison asks. 

"Nope. Just… them."

She smiles and nods. Stiles gestures towards the bench by Magnus' herb garden. 

"Can we sit?" he asks. 

Nodding again, Allison follows him towards the bench. His body language and demeanor are quiet, so she follows his lead and decides to wait for him to talk. 

He takes a few moments, but he eventually opens his mouth and talks to her. 

"I'm very glad you're not dead. I don't think I've said that yet. I have some hard feelings towards you and your dad, and no idea if I can or will move past them, but I'm glad you're alive," he says, meeting her gaze. "And… your seeing my mom. Well. That's both cool and sad, I guess."

Allison sighs and rubs her hands together. "I thought I dreamed the whole thing, at first," she says. 

"I bet." 

"Stiles—"

He drops his gaze from hers, looking at his lap briefly before turning his focus to the horizon. Allison stops talking abruptly; she isn't sure of anything, anymore, after hearing accounts and impressions from Stiles, Caolán, Alec, and Magnus (not to mention Stiles' other friends). As glad as she is to be in a position to talk with him, finally, in that moment, she has no idea what to say. 

"Did you kill Deaton?" Stiles asks. 

With only a little hesitation to contemplate the consequences of telling a lie, Allison decides to tell him the truth. 

"Yes," she says. 

"Why?" 

Allison sighs again. "Because… because he wasn't going to stop. He let a lot of death and pain happen, I think, all for the sake of power," she tells him. "Prison wouldn't have stopped him if you and that nemeton are still in the world. He would have kept trying for your power and whatever energy he could get from the nemeton." 

"But… why did  _ you?" _

"I work with the Winchesters," she reminds him. "It's their mission—my mission—to keep the weird stuff away from normal notice. And we try to protect everyone—including supernaturals. You're a part of that mission, Stiles." 

He turned his head back towards her. "Well, thanks for that," he says.

Allison's eyebrow creeps up in question. "Really? You're not going to judge?" 

"I try to avoid throwing stones in glass houses. I've been there," he says, with a brief shake of his head. 

"I try to avoid it, but… sometimes…" 

"The bad guys don't stop," Stiles says. 

"Yeah," she agrees. She waits a moment and then she says, "Stiles, I'm sorry. For not just going to your dad with the truth. For chasing down your friends instead. I thought I was doing this for you, but… I'm starting to see it was more about my feelings than yours. If you want me to leave—"

Stiles shook his head. Then, he looked at her. "You could have just driven back to Mary and the others," he says. "Why stay and look for me?" 

At that question, Allison chuckles. 

"I've been looking for you since I knew you left Beacon Hills. I wanted you to be in on the call, the 'not dead' call, so I tried your numbers, email, Twitter, Tumblr… everything of yours I could remember," she says. "After the call, no one could tell me anything useful, so I went to Pennsylvania and started there. I met Jay—he hoped you'll reach out to him at some point, probably still does—and then I really started trying to trace your steps.

"I didn't think things were so bad with the pack. Scott and Isaac were against finding and telling you, but I thought that was just them being weird and overprotective—at the time," she continues. "Jackson and Boyd were against not telling you. Cora was too furious for me to get a read on her. Peter… well, it was one of the first times I saw him actively defend and protect Derek. I didn't understand why you'd left."

"They told me to leave," Stiles says. 

"Boyd told me. Later, Scott and Isaac made it sound like they were trying to protect you and like you wanted out or something," Allison adds. "And Feliks… he sang sort of the same tune."

"Lying liars," Stiles mutters. 

She hums softly, briefly as she considers his point and nods. "Yes, they lied to me," she agrees. "Feliks did ask me to look for you when you dropped out of school. But,  _ now… _ I think that was more because he didn't know what you were doing. He didn't like not knowing."

"Not out of concern, but to make sure there was nothing he could take from me," Stiles says. "He's… I used to think it was all in my head, when we were kids. Now, I think he just needed to get one over on me to feel secure." 

"That's pretty messed up," Allison says. She sighs and gives herself a slight shake. "Anyway, then Jimmy Travers started gaining a reputation, and I was looking for him, too. A few years into the search, Dad figured out you're him." 

"Why were you looking for Jimmy?"

Allison smiles. "You have a reputation. Fair and hard. You protect werewolves and other supernatural beings when hunters overstep. You protect people from killers, whether they're supernatural or mundane," she replies. "Your mediations have brought peace to warring groups. You're kind of a legend. Everyone either speaks kindly of you or calls you the bogeyman. 

"While I've learned a lot, training with the Winchesters, I'd hoped to find you—Jimmy—and ask for more training."

Stiles' eyebrows raise slightly. "Really?"

She nods. "I hoped you could teach me about diplomacy with packs," she says. She winces. "Dad hasn't been the best example. As a teen, I thought… I thought he was improving. Evolving. I believed that for a long time. I still think he is more measured and sensible than a lot of hunters. But… I'm beginning to see he may be stuck in his ways."

"Really?" Stiles repeats. 

"It's been brought to my attention that I, too, hold some prejudices that I didn't realise are prejudices," she continues. "Caolán told me whoever killed Deaton might have done more harm than good. I didn't consider those dangers. I saw a bad guy and stepped in to protect people from him." 

Stiles tilts his head. "Yeah… I might have waited on that," he says. "But, I also know while being transported was the best time to access him. I can see both sides."

"But, the pack… if I made it so things can't be undone? If there are things? Spell things, I mean?"

"Well, let's find out together," Stiles suggests. Allison blinks at him. He shrugs. "I haven't gone through the stuff we took from his office yet. Except the will. We accidentally took some of his mundane paperwork when we cleaned his place of anything magical. But that got sneaked back." 

"You… want me to help you?" Allison asks.

"At least with the sorting," he confirms. "Up for it?" 

She nods. "Definitely, yeah. Anything I can do to help—I'm in," she says. 

#####

_ Allison hated leaving Sam's side, in bed, but she saw her father's name on her phone and she knew their conversation could be long or loud enough to wake Sam. They didn't hook up often—usually only after a bad hunt or to take a break from extreme boredom—and, while she wasn't sure what she felt for Sam, romantically, she enjoyed their time together. He didn't treat her like she was fragile; he saw and appreciated her strength. So, she reluctantly pulled away from his furnace-hot body, slipped into her shorts and Sam's plaid, and hurried out of the room.  _

_ She managed to answer the call  _ just  _ before it sent Chris to her voicemail.  _

"Bad time?" _ Chris asked.  _

_ "No, no, just didn't hear it ring," she lied. "What's up? Are you okay?" _

"We're all fine,"  _ he replied.  _ "Are you still looking for that Travers guy? The Traveller?"

_ "Yeah, definitely. He seems to have an 'in' with a lot of people. Could be helpful for our network. Could be a good teacher," she said.  _

_ Chris made a sound that seemed more of amusement than any other emotion or reaction.  _

"Well. I don't know if this will help or hurt that search—or your other one,"  _ he said, as if saying Stiles' name is against the rules.  _ "But, I've got some semi-reliable sources giving me accounts of different events, and they're all pointing to the same thing: they're the same person."

_ It took Allison a few moments to realise what Chris was telling her. As it settled in her brain, that Stiles and Travers were the same person, she leaned back against the tiled corridor wall.  _

_ "Did not see that coming," she admitted.  _

_ "He's dangerous," Chris pointed out. "A magic user who also hunts—" _

_ Allison rolled her eyes. "Dad, it's Stiles," she interrupted. "He might be angry with us for keeping a secret, but… he's still Stiles."  _

_ "We don't know how the possession changed him," Chris insisted. "Even Deaton said we should have been watching him more closely."  _

_ "Did you tell them?" _

_ "No, I didn't tell the pack. The alias is probably to protect his family, and the more people who know, the harder it is to keep that secret," Chris replied. "You should be mindful of that, too. Don't tell Mary you know who he is." _

_ "I get it. I won't," she said.  _

_ "Promise me you'll be careful if you continue looking for him?" Chris asked.  _

_ "I always try to be careful when I'm on a job, personal or otherwise," she reminded him, before steering the conversation to an easier topic.  _

#####

"Whoa."

Stiles snorts before looking at Allison. "There's a lot, huh?" he says, stepping further into the workroom Magnus set aside for storing Deaton's possessions. "We basically just grabbed it all on our way out of town. Didn't bother sorting it beyond a simple book-object-spell system." 

"I… what is all this?" Allison asks. 

"We're gonna find out," he says. He holds up his laptop. "I have inventory software on here. We're going to set up some sort of system. If you're up for the task." 

Allison lights up on the inside, both because of being included in Stiles' (Jimmy's) work and the organisational task.  The bunker is organised to the other people who live there, because they've lived there for years; but Allison has been itching to organise their resources into a more universal system for almost as long as she has lived there. 

Stiles takes a few minutes to set her up with his laptop and the system he prefers to use. He has a template already developed for organising a magic user's supplies, explaining to her that it isn't the first time he's had to clean out someone's work. Headings like  _ Brief Description, Classification, Danger Level, Visuals, Related Items, Storage Location, Other Details,  _ and  _ Longer Description _ are at the top of what seems to be a fancy database or spreadsheet. She offers to use her phone to take photos; he accepts and, with that agreement, they start on the massive task of rifling through Deaton's affairs. 

A lot of books go into the system first. They're easy to describe and pack into labeled boxes, and she fills almost a page before realising a stack of books has been set aside from all the others. 

"Journals," Stiles says, catching her looking at them. "We're going to need them when we get the stuff with active magic." 

She nods. 

Stiles uses his gut (or instincts or magical powers) to start shifting through the other objects. He gives Allison a pile of weird amulets, while he moves onto spell ingredients. As she works on his laptop, he adds to the database by using his phone. Every item is photographed, described, and given tags from the database template; she can see how easy it will be to find things once they're finished. Sorting the items by type, in another view of the data, she can see the catalogue of Deaton's possessions growing. 

It takes a few hours before they're left with the journals and a spread of objects and boxes on the workroom table. Everything else is either in boxes, trunks, or chests that Magnus apparently has on hand. 

Allison doesn't have any magical aptitude, but some of those items give her a very bad feeling. 

Stiles must be feeling something similar, because he tells her, "If I tell you to duck, duck. No questions. If I tell you to run, get out the door and slam it shut." 

"Stiles—"

"I'm not kidding," he interjects. "This stuff… I'm pretty sure I know what it all is, but there could be surprises." 

"Maybe we should check the journals?" she suggests. She steps forward and looks at the amulet sitting between the wooden box and what looks like an ornate wreath of hex bags. There is a tree engraved on the amulet's aged surface. "Is this… nemeton related?"

"Maybe," he says, looking down at its surface. 

"Or world tree?" Allison continues. When Stiles looks at her, she says, "Caolán was researching. I couldn't sleep." 

He turns his attention back to the amulet. "Could be. Or, they could be the same thing," he says. "Wouldn't be the first time myth is used to explain something real."

Allison blinks. "The implications of that…" 

"What Deaton was trying to do or—"

"Or everything!" she exclaims. "Dad, cutting it down. The Hales. Our sacrifices, Baccari's sacrifices… Gerard. Kate. The…  _ everything _ that happened there." 

Stiles nods. "Yeah, it's a lot," he agrees. 

He puts his hand over the centre of his chest and rubs at something under his shirt. Then, he seems to give himself a shake. He lowers his hand and reaches for a small, ornate box. The lock on it poses little problem—Stiles simply wraps his hand around it, whispers something Allison can't understand, and releases the pieces as they crumble away—but the contents of the box are another thing altogether. As soon as Stiles peers into the container, he sags and slumps. 

"You bastard," Stiles mutters. 

"Stiles?" 

Not answering her, he moves past her towards the stack of journals. Allison takes a moment to peek into the box. She sees a few small figures shaped like people. Some of them have needles through their chests; some of them have needles through their heads. She pulls back before she can study them too closely, as Stiles is marching back towards their work area with the journals. 

There are five in total. They're all the same type and size; they look like those fancy hardcover journals artists use as sketchbooks. Nothing about them screams  _ evil  _ except for the fact that she knows they came from Deaton's collection. Stiles runs his hands over their covers, humming to himself. Allison wonders if he's using some sort of spell, but she doesn't ask. If it is a spell, she assumes an interruption could delay or prevent his work; if it isn't a spell, she assumes an interruption could annoy him. Neither is a good option. 

Eventually, Stiles selects a journal and flips it open to a page in the middle of the book. 

"'October fifth, twenty-eleven. Another hex bag may be effective, but proximity is best for fast results with that type of magic and assisting Darach is an acute issue. Her sacrifices are adding power to the nemeton; this could accelerate my timeline, which would be an added bonus,'" Stiles reads. "'I have created a small representation of Subject D, with all necessary ingredients (as I still have some of his blood). Needles dipped in aconite and jasmine, for weakening him and creating an attachment (as her attempts to secure his affection have been rebuffed, to date), have been inserted into his representation's head. I hope this will assist her in her work.'"

Allison frowns. The figures all have needles in their heads; only one has needles in their heart, too, but nothing in the entry has explained that.

"Which one is Derek?" she asks. 

Stiles looks from the journal to the chest and back to the journal. After a snort, he says, "The asshole actually added other dates at the bottom of the entry, labeled 'Continued work in this area.' Let's see what November twenty-eighth has to tell us."

Even as she nods, Allison tries to brace herself. 

"Ah. 'An unexpected instability has occurred in the energy lines. Unfortunately, the living sacrifices did not have the predicted effect. I assumed that their energy would continue to wane until they were too weak to continue; however, instead, they have created some sort of blast or bursting that released an unknown power previously trapped. I will have to wait to see who will be possessed. It could be anyone,'" he reads. "'The possession could bring chaos, but it could also release energy into the ley lines, and this could be extremely beneficial. The hex bag wreath should prevent the pack from working against my wishes, but I have also created representations for Subject SM and Subject E. I used needles dipped in aconite, inserted into their heads during a meditation ritual. Will observe them to determine if it's effective.'"

"Scott, Erica, and Derek," Allison says. 

Stiles nods. "Derek probably has the needles in his heart, too, but lemme just…" 

As he trails off, he flips to another page. He skims it, sighs, and nods. 

"Yeah, it's Derek," he confirms. "Deaton stabbed him there to make it harder for him to use his instincts—specifically to realise I was possessed. He knew no one else would figure it out, but he actually guessed Derek would." 

"We should pull them out," Allison insists. 

To her surprise, Stiles shakes his head. "Not until I find out who's tied up in the hex bags," he says. "Undoing one magic but not the rest may cause them added or prolonged harm. Better do it almost all at once." 

"Okay. What journal will tell you about the hex bags?"

Stiles shrugs and looks at the other journals. He sets down the one with information about the chest's figurines and goes through a similar selection process to choose another. He flips through it, grimacing at whatever he sees on the pages; when he finds a two-page diagramme, he holds it up for Allison to see. 

Each circle, Allison assumes, represents a hex bag. She can see the ingredients meticulously written inside each circle, but she doesn't understand their correspondences—or the symbols and letters at the top of each circle. After studying the pages, she looks at Stiles and waits for him to explain. 

Once he has opened the other books to specific pages, all except the book marked with the number one on its spine, he moves over to the bundle of hex bags and arranges it so it's in the middle of the books. 

He points at the hex bag in the seven o'clock position. 

"That's you. He wrote that he put clove and cumin in it to keep you at a distance. Hematite to release your anxiety," he says, glancing at a journal to summarise the bag's contents. Allison grimaces; she never thought she could be on Deaton's radar like that. "He suspected you would support me, as another human." 

Allison stares at the fabric that contains her intended ingredients. It looks familiar; she can't place it, though. 

"He took your shirt," Stiles says as she squints at the bundle. "These are all pieces of our clothing." 

"Why are they bloody?" Allison asks when she notices the brownish spots. 

"Ah. Let's save that for the grand finale," Stiles replies. He taps the sachets at eight, ten, and eleven o'clock. "Feliks, Boyd, and Erica. For control, they've got bergamot oil, alder wood, and mustard. I hope it's the seeds. And not… the condiment. 

"For building a sense of community, they have juniper, coral pieces, and thyme," he continues. "And do you want to know why Deaton was trying to foster community?"

Allison winces and nods. 

"Because he gave Scott and Isaac—" he taps one o'clock and two o'clock in the wreath monstrosity "—each a hex bag with authority correspondences: gold and cedar. He also got some of their hair, somehow, and braided it together. To foster attachment to each other."

After she considers the information he gave her, Allison looks at him. "He thought Scott and Isaac would, what, lead the pack?"

"Apparently." 

She snorts. "He comes across as a great strategist, but he's also… kind of an idiot."

"No kidding," Stiles agrees. He points to the sachet at five o'clock. "Lydia. Gold and iron pieces. Grave dirt and stone from her grandmother's final resting place. All bound up in thread. Nothing to cause serious harm. He was trying to find a combination that would impair her abilities. He changed the ingredients twice."

"She should have those things—"

"The bags need to be burned," Stiles interjects. "I will willingly go with Lydia and do a blessing on the gravesite to put any unrest to… rest. But for these to stop having any effect, they need to be burned." 

Conceding his point, Allison nods. She knows hex bags have to be burned—it's why Sam and Dean both told her to carry a small butane torch in her hunting kit. But, she doesn't like the idea of Lydia's grandmother's grave being disturbed. The idea that Deaton had no problem doing that, in an attempt to befuddle or antagonise Lydia, unsettles her. 

"There's five left," she says. 

Stiles taps the sachet at four o'clock. "Me. Hawthorne and raspberry to release attachment. A piece of red jasper for banishment—must've been a freaking big piece—and fox fur and rowan for destruction," he says. 

He pauses and taps the bags at nine and three o'clock. 

"Derek, part one. For destruction of a future mate bond," he says. "Deaton only made one, originally. But, over time, he noticed it lost its efficacy. So he made two. Blackthorn, a poisonous mushroom of some kind, and he used pieces of my shirt." 

Her heart aches for Derek—and for Stiles. 

"Part two?" she asks. 

After a sigh, he taps the bags at twelve and six o'clock. "To ensure a pledge or bond of loyalty, Deaton mixed rowan, rosemary, and salt with pieces of the shirt scraps from Scott, Isaac, Feliks, Boyd, and Erica. To ensure devotion, he actually put a real diamond in a mussel shell. And tied the thing shut with his own hair," Stiles explains while consulting the journals. "I hope Deaton had locks saved, somewhere, because… otherwise…" 

"Still gross… just, grosser," Allison says. 

"Yeah, definitely," he says in response. 

She gestures at the wreath. "What… the grand finale," she says. "Can it get worse?"

"Well. When he secured each bag in the wreath formation, he sprinkled it with what he calls 'a solution of determination and intention,' so probably blood, sweat, and tears, if not more bodily fluids," Stiles says. "And, when a certain murderous chimera got himself murdered by Monroe's goons, he sought out the body  _ somehow _ and stole some of its blood to further bless the wreath with—"

"Oh god," Allison croaks. 

With a grim nod, Stiles checks his phone. "Yeah," he agrees. "The energy of death. Two-fold. Killer and killed. I wonder if he took the blood while Theo was in the process of dying."

"So we burn it all, now?" she asks, deliberately not thinking about Deaton leaning over a dying person to take their blood. 

He shakes his head, still looking down at his phone. "Not without warning them first," he explains. "I'll need you to warn the targeted betas. Tell them it will be done in the next half-hour or so, and they should go or stay home. Just in case. I'll handle warning Derek. Be right back." 

At that, he pockets his phone without doing anything with it. He leaves the room, with the door wide open, and Allison stays by the table. She looks over Deaton's handiwork; she feels sickened by the efforts he went to manipulate some members of the pack. She can't imagine believing all of that underhanded, hurtful spell work is necessary. She hates that she, too, is one of Deaton's victims. 

But, she also has questions: why only those pack members? why were the other Hales excluded from Deaton's machinations? what would Deaton gain by having the pack under his control? why did Derek require four hex bags? what was so important (because she suspects it couldn't have just been power) to go to that extreme course of action?

Her text message is difficult to word. 

Should she tell them everything? Would that be betraying Stiles? 

"You okay?" 

She lifts her head to see Alec standing in the doorway. He seems to have had that bath Magnus suggested they have; he's shirtless, showing off a lot of inked skin, and his hair drips onto his shoulders and chest. When she meets his eyes, he smiles. 

"You look like you're having serious thoughts," he says. 

She holds up her phone. "Stiles wants me to warn the pack we're going to destroy some of Deaton's spellwork," she explains. "I'm trying to decide how much to tell them." 

"'Deaton's spellwork is getting destroyed soon. Dangerous items with your names, possessions, or likenesses are in the collection. Stay home or away from mundanes, if possible, just in case there are side effects,'" he says. "That about sums it up." 

"Shouldn't they know Stiles is helping them?" she asks. 

"So they can blame him? Or accuse him of doing something else to them?" Alec asks. 

She frowns. "What if this fixes—"

"Do you think Deaton's work started when you all started hanging out together?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Plus, the cracks were there already," Alec says. "He preyed upon weaknesses and insecurities. And I am not having those idiots accuse or attack Stiles because they don't understand how magic or the world, in general, works. Tell them the bare bones. Stiles is talking to Derek. He'll tell him the important parts." 

Allison nods, deciding to acquiesce. "All right. Thanks," she says. "I just… want this to… y'know."

His body language relaxes. "Yeah, I get it. But… magic doesn't have an undo switch and it can't take the blame for everything," he says, tapping the door frame with his knuckles. 

Both he and Allison turn when they hear the entryway door open. 

"Bitches! We're here! And we brought the salt!" Margo shouts. 

"Margarita time!" an unfamiliar (to Allison) man calls out into the loft. 

Alec snorts. "That would be Margo and Eliot with the supplies for the undoing," he said. "I better go before they…"

With a wavy hand gesture, he disappears. 

Allison decides to stay in the workroom, since she didn't exactly hit it off with Margo. She sends a quick text to those who Deaton had magically influenced, apart from Derek, and she closely adheres to Alec's suggested message; she includes no mention of Stiles or her location and she doesn't reply to Scott and Isaac when they quickly respond with questions for details about the magic, how she obtained Deaton's property, and her safety level. When Lydia sends her _is it going to hurt?,_ she tells Lydia that she'll ask before they start. 

When that's done, she pockets her phone and looks around the room. It seems sparse, since they packed the books and neutral items, except for the table cluttered with Deaton's journals and cast-upon objects. In the background, she can hear Alec and Magnus talking with Eliot and Margo, but she tunes it out; they're talking about the club Magnus owns and that doesn't particularly interest her. 

What does interest her is a line under the wreath diagramme, written in Deaton's handwriting:  _ See Book One for information about the wreath frame. _ __

Allison looks from the book to the doorway. With no sign of Stiles, as far as she can tell, she decides to pick up the book Stiles hadn't yet opened (again, as far as she can tell) and flip through its contents. 

The first page contains what appears to be the start of his manifesto. He wrote about how he saw how the power could be used—for greatness, of course—and how a person called  _ the guardian _ failed to seize the power and bend it to their will. That person warned him off his research, several times, but Deaton wrote they were a pitiful excuse of a magic user with little imagination. 

As she flips through the next few pages, he talks about his intention to cast a small spell on the guardian, every new moon, to let his will swell slowly so that the magic would go undetected by them. He would use the amulet as a focus for his will—the amulet with the tree engraved in its surface. Allison frowns as she looks at the object; she hopes the guardian survived Deaton's intentions. 

Approximately halfway through the book, there is an image of a tree, hand drawn in ink, with more of Deaton's writing. 

_ Most scholars, in the normal world, have written about the world tree as if it is a piece of religion or mythology. They've attached their narrow views to the symbol: a colossal tree that connects the heavens and underworld to the terrestrial world, through its boughs and roots. They connect it to vertical and horizontal dimensions, through different burial rituals where trees are planted at the four cardinal points at a particular site.  _

_ What they fail to understand, and what few in the supernatural world fail to see, is that the world tree connects to all the dimensions and energies in the universe. It is our portal to power, both through magical strength as well as through the dimensions through which its boughs and roots reach and connect. The possibilities are endless. _

_ The secret of the world tree is carefully guarded. Few are welcomed into it. Some magic tomes refer to beings chosen by the power; others refer to people who actively forge a bond with the world tree. As the world tree is cosmic, in nature, it is difficult to comprehend how either could happen. However, there are references to several points of nexus on this planet where visual representations of the tree exist; I believe the forging of the bond happens at these points. These points are where the world tree's energy is strongest. These points are where a being is able to bond with what I assume is the greatest power in the universe with which we are able to interact.  _

_ Not much is known about the guardians, although they are supposed to be recognised by a mark. I suspect it is a tatt— _

Allison gasps when the book tugs out of her hand. She looks up in time to see it flying into the pile of items in Stiles' arms. 

"Don't go skipping ahead," he says.

She gestures at the amulet. "I think there's something—"

"I recognise it for what it is," he interjects. His voice is flat and firm. "We'll deal with that, too." 

"Oh. Um… sorry." 

Stiles sighs as he brings his supplies to the table. "Don't worry about it," he says, his voice softening. "Just… reading this crap isn't going to help. He was nuts. That's why I sifted through it all for what we need." 

Allison nods, even though she doubts Stiles is right about that. 

"All right. Here's what's going to happen," he says. He starts shuffling through the supplies he unloaded. "You can help me set up the protection circle and then I need you to sit quietly. Eliot and Magnus are going to help me while I work. And then, I'm going to need you to drive the ashes to the ocean or a running river and get rid of them all."

"I can do that, no problem," she agrees. 

With a nod, Stiles turns to the business of preparing for the undoing of Deaton's magic. He instructs Allison politely and carefully, which she appreciates since she only knows enough about magic to keep herself alive when hunting a magic user, and they work together in relative peace. 

Allison asks Stiles about Lydia's question while they work. Stiles isn't sure what the effects will be; she texts Lydia that they don't know, and Lydia texts back with a quick message to thank both of them (because Lydia isn't an idiot) and a promise to call much later in the day. Before she continues to focus on following Stiles' instructions, Allison passes on Lydia's thanks. 

Once the circle is set around the chest, wreath, and amulet, Stiles calls for his friends and Allison sits back with Stiles' laptop. She sifts through the items they'd catalogued; she only looks up when Magnus, in silk pyjamas, and Eliot, a tall, lithe man dressed in a waistcoat, slacks, and tailored shirt, enter the room. Magnus nods at her; Eliot appraises her for a moment before turning his attention to Stiles. 

She watches the trio work. Unfortunately, they don't talk much through the process, so she can't figure out the intricacies of the process. Eliot and Magnus stand guard, as far as Allison can tell; Eliot is on the other side of the table, eyes moving from the circle to Stiles, while Magnus stands behind Stiles. 

Stiles' focus is on the figurines and then the hex bags; he pulls out the needles and burns the representations of Derek, Erica, and Scott, and then he burns each hex bag before he puts his small torch to the framework of the wreath. Aside from the circle of salt and mistletoe and other ingredients she couldn't identify, Allison can't discern any other magic happening. 

When he moves onto the amulet, something dark passes over his face. Magnus breaks his composed stance to put his hand on Stiles' shoulder. Allison stares, looking for clues, but she can't figure out his reaction to the piece of jewelry. 

"Just do it," Eliot advises. He pulls a hammer from… either his waist or his back pocket, Allison has no idea. He puts the hammer in Stiles' hand and says, "Then his hold on  _ everyone, _ past, present, and future, is no more." 

Stiles' hand tightens around the handle. 

"Magnus, I need you to handle the fire. Extra hot, if you can manage it," he says. "I'm scared I'll burn the place down if I try." 

As he squeezes Stiles' shoulder, Magnus leans in and kisses the side of his head. 

"It would be my pleasure," he says. 

Allison struggles to understand the situation and comes up empty. 

It ends quickly for the amulet. Magnus burns it with icy-hot blue flames and Stiles brings the hammer down upon it, over and over, until it is rubble and ash. Allison feels like cheering, like some great battle has been won, but she curbs the impulse. 

Without hesitation, Magnus sweeps Stiles into a hug. Eliot waves his hands over the debris. The ash lifts into the air, swirling in a ball, and it follows his directions when he points at a jar. Knowing it's her job, next, Allison stands and moves around Stiles and Magnus. 

"You know what to do?" Eliot asks her as he screws a lid on the jar. 

She nods. "Ocean. Away from the coast if I can manage it. Or running water. Far from here," she says. 

He nods, too. Then, after another searching look, he says, "Come back when you're finished. We were serious about the margaritas. We might even order food." 

After one more nod (and a hint of a smile), Allison takes the jar off the table and leaves the workroom. 


	13. Chapter 13

_ Allison didn't realise how late it was until Clare and Patience knocked on the door and entered the room. The interruption tore her gaze away from the corkboard she'd set up in the small room Mary said she could use for her work; she caught sight of her laptop and saw she'd been pouring over the information for hours.  _

_ "What are you doing?" Clare asked. "New hunt?" _

_ Allison shook her head. "Nah… left side is a search for a friend from home—he went no-contact with everyone after high school—and the right side is a search for that Travers guy," she explained.  _

_ Patience frowned. "Why are you trying to find left side guy? He probably went no-contact for a reason."  _

_ "I don't know," Allison said. "It's not like him to just… disappear."  _

_ "Is he dead?" Clare asked. "I mean… 'disappear?' That's often fatal." _

_ Allison shook her head. She'd wondered that, too, once, but she knew Stiles was Jimmy Travers, and he was very much alive. She'd even found evidence of Stiles, sparse though it was, through research, investigations, and internet searches, and it gave her glimpses into his journey around the continent.  _

_ "No, I've found a few sightings and evidence of him since he disappeared," she said.  _

_ Clare nodded and moved toward the board. "Not much to go on," she said, scanning Stiles' side of the board. She moved onto Jimmy's side. "More here, but… still." _

_ "Not enough to pin him down long enough to find him. Either of them," Allison agreed.  _

_ She nodded and turned, her long, blonde hair cascading over her shoulder as she moved. "Why are you trying to find Travers, anyway? Think he's gone dark side?" _

_ Allison shook her head. "No, I just want to learn from him," she said. "He knows so much about pack politics, apparently, if the stories are true. I hate when I can't… I mean, my family, they're not a friend of werewolves, and people assume I'm the same way. I try, but… it's hard. I hoped he could help."  _

_ Clare shrugged. "We don't need a pack's help to hunt a feral wolf," she said, before turning her attention back to the board.  _

_ Werewolves were a touchy subject with Clare. Allison had learned that when she went with Clare and Dean to help his friend, Garth, who was a werewolf. He and Clare had been cordial with each other (or Garth had been sunshine and rainbows while Clare had glared a lot and gave brief responses to his questions), and Dean had rolled his eyes a lot. When Allison asked Sam about the whole thing, later, he'd said Garth had been a hunter before being bitten and he and Dean could see he was still a good guy—but, he'd made a point to say Clare wouldn't have liked him because of who he'd become. Allison never pried further; if Clare wanted to tell her, she could, and Allison wouldn't push for more.  _

_ Patience leaned into her and nudged gently. "It's good you want to keep learning," she said. "If you do make contact with him, can't hurt to try." _

_ Allison smiled.  _

_ She gestured at the board. "If you have anything of your friend's, I can try to see if anything comes to me," she offered. "I tried on Jimmy once, for Mary, when she managed to snag a lighter he'd dropped during a hunt, and it was… well, it's like he has a block on him."  _

_ "Like someone is blocking him?" Allison asked.  _

_ After a shake of her head, Patience said, "No… definitely something he did. Like locking a door. Not like building a wall or dropping a cloak over him. I've felt those things before. This felt like a part of him, an extension, a… well, it's hard to explain."  _

_ Allison leaned into her. "I believe you," she said. Thinking about all she thought she knew of Stiles, she could imagine that, between cutting off all contact with the pack and doing the work he did, he would have figured out some way to avoid being tracked. "I bet he's just trying to protect himself." _

_ "Dude's got a lot of enemies," Clare agreed, turning away from the board. She shrugged. "C'mon. It's late. Let's go get some ice cream. Kaia wants to watch a movie." _

_ Allison didn't want to abandon her work for the night, but she knew she wasn't making much progress. Stopping could give her brain a break; a night of relaxation and sleep could help her brain process the new Stiles and Jimmy sightings. With the hope of a pattern coming to her after some rest, she followed her new friends out of the room. _

#####

"Can I ask a question?" Allison asks breathlessly, as they slow their running to a stop so they can stretch their limbs.

Stiles grunts and nods as he makes his way to a nearby tree. 

"Why only them? Not Cora, Malia, or Peter? Or Jackson? Ethan?" 

As he presses into the tree trunk, leaning to stretch the back of his left leg and then his right leg, Stiles cackles. 

"Cora never wandered too close to him and she wasn't particularly close with any non-Hale, in those first few years. He couldn't risk it and had to count on her following the pack's lead," Stiles explains. "Peter. Too suspicious, too unpredictable. Chaotic at best. And Malia… some of the same, between trust issues and reintegrating. He wrote about considering asking Scott, later, for her hair and a shirt, but he wasn't sure it was wise. She might've asked Peter if it were a good idea, if Scott asked her for the items. He only saw Jackson and I in high school. Why on earth would he need to help Jackson bully me more? And Ethan… even if he stayed. I killed his brother. Or, that's how it looks, anyway. Plus, I never liked either twin after they defected. We weren't bonding any time soon."

"But the others…"

"Trusted him. They gave him blood and hair when he asked, if he needed to ask," Stiles says. "Except for Derek. He stole those. Big guy loses his shirt and bleeds far too much." 

Allison leans on the bench, instead of stretching, and she wills her body to cooperate. Margaritas turned into straight tequila, and she'd gone along with the group. Stiles had not, sticking to ginger beer the whole night. She wishes she'd had the same sense of self-preservation. She isn't a werewolf and she can still smell the tequila, like it's oozing out of her skin. 

Stiles moves a bottle of cold fresh water into her line of vision. 

"Here," he says. "Magnus says hi." 

"Is it poisoned?"

Stiles chuckles. "No, I think it's a small peace offering," he admits. "He just sent it. The magic of… well, magic." 

Allison accepts the bottle and forces herself to sip slowly. It is so refreshing and soothing that she moans. 

"I love magic," she breathes. 

They both smile. 

When a car stops abruptly on the other side of the road, they both look up at the sound. Allison blinks when she recognises the Camaro; Stiles gasps next to her. They watch as Derek parks along the curb, turns off the car, and gets out. He doesn't approach; he stays on his side of the road and looks at Stiles, who is looking back at him. 

Derek looks worse than Allison has ever seen him, as if the sadness, guilt, and grief have taken a physical toll from which he couldn't heal, but he also looks better—stronger and more solid—than she's seen him in a long, long time. 

"Maybe you should see why he's here," Allison suggests. 

"I…"

"I broke up the pack," Derek says, as Stiles hesitates, his voice soft but still carrying over the street's traffic. "Not just kicked them out. Told them their joining again is not automatic." 

Stiles blinks again, taking a moment before asking, "You okay?"

In response, Derek nods. Then, he asks, "Could we talk for a minute? Alone?"

Not offended by Derek's request, Allison puts her hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I'll head to Caolán's place, shower, and either make or order breakfast," she offers. "Or, we can both go somewhere, right now, if you don't want to. Up to you." 

"It's brunch day. We're supposed to meet at Caolán's… I, uh, yeah, that works," he says, tearing his eyes away from Derek to look at Allison. "No one's vegan or gluten-free. You good organising all that food? I'll call the others and tell them we're eating in." 

She nods. 

Across the road, Derek ducks his head and tips it to one side, all the while keeping his eyes on Stiles. 

Allison looks from Derek to Stiles. She sees a flush on Stiles' face that has nothing to do with their attempt at exercising together. He seems visibly affected by the mere presence of Derek; Allison has never seen Stiles like that before. He swore he didn't feel any different since burning his hex bag, but Allison can see the changes: he's more open with her, he smiles easily, and he's practically vibrating as he stares at his mate match. He is still Stiles, but he's also different—or more true to himself, perhaps. 

"I'll see you at Caolán's," Allison says. 

Stiles nods and Allison leaves him. She doesn't look back until she's about to cross the street and continue onto the next block. By that point, Derek is standing in front of Stiles, saying something, and Stiles is nodding. 

Derek follows him when Stiles starts walking. Allison smiles. It feels as if the darkness is finally lifting off of them all—and, maybe, hopefully, the world is finally righting itself in the wake of Deaton's destruction.


End file.
